


Like Fog on Glass

by jatty



Series: Dogs 2.0 [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Human Trafficking, M/M, Mental Instability, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:44:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 111,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/jatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Gerard, love can only come in the form of possession. If he is owned, he is loved--if he is sold, he becomes nothing. Untouchable in the eyes of the man, his Master, whom he held above all others. </p><p>For Frank, love is...enigmatic. Romantic. You can't buy it on street corners or in seedy bars on the outskirts of town. You can't steal it. You can't force it or kindle it from nothing. At least, you're not supposed to.</p><p>Love was certainly not what Frank expected to find when circumstances led him to spend his final $5k on a broken human being put up for auction on the bad side of town. Love...you didn't give that to creatures like Gerard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where Cries Go Unheard in the Basement

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [It All Goes Back to the Dogs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/788396) by [jatty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/jatty). 



> I've wanted to rewrite my Dogs series for a while, hoping to do the topic and emotions true justice. Consider this a more literary take on my popular series with a revamped, condensed plot.

_Chapter One_

He didn’t know how long he’d been trapped there—tied to the table, a gag stuffed deep in his throat choking him and making it hard to breathe. At first, he’d been quiet, trying to be obedient in hopes his temporary master would calm down and show him mercy. It was hard to stay quiet with the long, phallic gag pressing at the back of his throat, but gerard tried. He let the shame come, the humiliation and the tears. He let himself cry, sorrowful and also angry at himself for getting himself in this position, but he knew—deep down—that he couldn’t have given in to the other man’s demands.

Gerard belonged to Master and no one else. Master was the only man allowed to touch him or be touched by him. No matter what Master’s friend insisted, gerard knew he wasn’t permitted to open his mouth to accept the other man’s length—not that he would have without a fight even with his Master’s consent. At first, he thought this whole thing was a test. 

Maybe Master had called the man and told him to see if gerard would submit to his desires—disobey his Master’s most serious command. 

Gerard tried to tell himself over and over as he waited that the test would be over soon. But hours past and he was still strapped to the cold, metal table in the basement. The gag was still strapped into his mouth. 

Hours turned to days. He was hurting, cold, shaking, thirsty, hungry. He panicked the first night—screamed and screamed around the long gag in his throat—but no one came. Not until the next morning when a faint beam of light was cast across the stone floor. 

With the light came Master’s cruel friend. 

A beating, then abandonment. No food, no water. The man didn’t even speak to him—just grunted as he swung down one of Master’s heaviest straps across gerard’s stomach and the fronts of his thighs. Gerard had nearly vomited from the pain, but the gag in his throat kept down whatever tried to rise from his stomach. 

The beam of light disappeared and gerard cried softly as he realized his own helplessness. 

Master would be gone a week and who knew when His cruel friend would show gerard mercy. It could be the next day, but why would it be? The man enjoyed being cruel. Gerard could hear marcus crying upstairs sometimes after loud thuds or sharp smacks. Even adam stood somewhere overhead weeping, presumably after being struck. 

Late on the second night that gerard spent strapped to the metal table—now soaked in sweat and, regrettably, urine—he heard footsteps on the stairs. His spirits lifted, not caring if it was the bad man come to beat him. Maybe he’d try for sex again and would remove the gag or at least undo the bindings.

But it was marcus. 

Gerard had immediately started pleading for his fellow slave to remove the gag.

“I can’t,” marcus told him, crying as he stroked gerard’s hair and then began wiping his face with a cool, damp cloth—clearing away the tears and snot and spit. “I can’t. I’m so sorry. He’s asleep, so I’m going to bring you some water and clean you off, but I can’t let you up. I’m sorry.”

Gerard had become frantic then, making any desperate noise he could in hopes marcus would cave to his will—but he didn’t. He cleaned up the table, then went upstairs and retuned with a bottle of water. 

Marcus would have to remove the gag in order for him to take a drink, gerard thought—but he didn’t. He manipulated gerard’s mouth in a way that the water poured past his lips and ran down his throat along the length of the phallic gag. He choked and coughed, his throat clamping down on the plastic—the water hitting his lungs. It took four tries for him to be able to drink without choking. 

Once the bottle was empty, marcus kissed his cheek and left him again—left him alone, shaking and cold in the dark. 

It went on for days until gerard lost count. He was tortured in the afternoons by the man—beaten, sodomized with toys and then left with something inside that burned unbearably—and visited by marcus at night. The second night he brought water, then there was juice one night, milk the next, then more water. The last one gerard remembered was one of Master’s vitamin drinks, a breakfast replacement milk drink. 

His throat hurt so badly by that point he could barely swallow. His nose was clogged and he could only take his breaths around the gag—slowly suffocating as panic attack after panic attack washed over him. Not to mention the sheer agony of his jaw, forced to stay open wide around the hard gag.

His wrists and legs were raw from fighting the bindings, there were sores on his back and shoulders from lying on the hard table. His stomach ached constantly and the drinks marcus brought him did nothing to stifle the cravings for food. 

He grew weaker and weaker until one day the man came downstairs again. He undid the straps on gerard’s ankles as he did every time he had the intent to use one of Master’s toys, and pushed his legs apart. 

Exhausted, aching, _terrified,_ gerard barely even whimpered in protest as slick fingers pressed inside him. He started sobbing faintly when he saw the man pull out a condom from his pocket and place it on himself—discarding the foil wrapper on the floor. 

Gerard’s head lulled back and forth and he stared up at the beams overhead, willing himself away from this nightmare. The thought that his Master would be home soon had been his only comfort—the thought that his Master would come home and release him from the table and remove the gag was the only thing that calmed him down. 

Now he knew. 

When Master came home, He’d see the damage that was done. He would know gerard broke His most important rule and gerard would be worth nothing to Him. He didn’t want a slave that others had had. Gerard had been Master’s first virgin slave. He was proud to have been the only one to have his body.

Now that wasn’t the case anymore.

As soon he felt the other man press inside, gerard squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to scream, but his voice was wrecked and all he could get out was a soft wheeze around the gag. Each inch that was forced inside took gerard to new levels of horror. 

Master would be home soon, and now He’d be angry when He laid eyes on gerard. 

When Master had told him He was going away for a week, gerard had cried and clung to Him. He would miss his Master, he’s sobbed, but he would make sure the house was in order when He got home. He would have his Master’s favorite dinner on the table on Sunday night when He was due home. He would have the bedroom set up just how Master liked, all His favorite toys on display. He would have had his Master come home to the very epitome of submission. 

Gerard laid on the table and trembled as the man started to thrust in and out, grunting like an animal—moaning, roaring. The skin of gerard’s back, pressed into the table, was strained and torn open with the force of the thrusts, already made raw from lying on the unforgiving metal for days on end. Unable to move, unable to scream or cry, unable to block the pain…it was the cruelest torture to which gerard had ever been made to submit. 

With all the awful sounds—the wet noises, the growls, the squeaking of the table—it was a surprise when both he and the man heard the door open and close overhead. 

Master was home.


	2. In Which Evidence is Washed Away

_Chapter Two_

Lester Hollman expected his slaves to be in the living room, lounging around like lazy little slobs in his absence, not expecting him home a day early. Or maybe they would hear his car pull in the driveway and would be waiting by the door like the good dogs they were.

But none of his slaves were waiting in the entrance hall. Nor were they in the kitchen, or the dining room, or the living room, or the parlor. Carl, the friend he’d paid to watch his whores, had his car parked in the driveway, but the man was not downstairs.

“Come,” Les said to the new pet which trailed a few feet behind him. Obediently, it followed him and closed the door. Slaves bought from private trainers were always so well behaved. They weren’t like gerard who had cried and cried for days on end—cried during sex, begged for mercy, release, and drugs. Joshua on the other hand… Joshua was silent, compliant—obedient. 

Moments after the door to the garage had closed, the basement door opened and Carl stepped into view. The basement was reserved for punishments only and he had told Carl so when he’d left him in charge of the whores.

“Where are they?” Les asked, not wasting time on formalities. Something had gone wrong in his home and he could sense it. The atmosphere had always been calm unless one of his whores had angered him, but there was no sense of peace here. He’d left hectic travels to come home to an unpleasant home and that agitated him.

“Um—Upstairs, probably. In bed. They’re lazy as hell. Can’t get them to clean a damned thing without beating their asses. I don’t know how you put up with them.”

“Where’s gerard?” Les asked. Of all his slaves, gerard was one he could trust to always clean, always cook and make sure the house was as it should be. He may have been worthless when he’d first been purchased, but Les had trained him up into the perfect little pet. Gerard didn’t just obey him out of fear; gerard worshiped Les. He adored his Master.

“That the one with the black hair?” Carl asked, pretending he didn’t know of the pedestal on which Les kept gerard carefully perched. Anyone who knew Les in his own private home—not just from the offices—knew that gerard was his favorite. 

Carl looked nervous. He’d done something with gerard and Les knew it. 

“Where is he?”

“He’s in the basement,” Carl said, gesturing toward the doorway. “He—”

Les didn’t wait for an explanation. He told joshua to stay and then started down the stairs. Immediately the stench of urine struck his nose and he almost gagged at the smell. He’d wanted to come home to a fresh meal and elated whores eager to please him. He hadn’t wanted to come home to a mess that needed cleaned and pets in need of comfort. 

At the center of the room at the base of the stairs was a metal table, and strapped to the table was his favorite little pet. Bloody. Shaking. Eyes clenched shut as he whimpered into the apparent gag in his mouth. 

Les could tell right away that gerard had been strapped to the table for days—and not just by the urine stains on the floor. 

Shaking his head, Les stepped up to the table and slid his hand under the back of gerard’s head. His hair was soaked through with sweat and grease and Les cringed as he quickly unbuckled the strap on the gag. 

When he laid gerard’s head back down, the slave’s blood-shot, watery eyes opened and stared up at him desperately, his mouth working around the gag that Les immediately recognized, even before he started pulling the five inches of plastic out of his favorite whore’s throat. 

Gerard gasped as soon as it was removed, but the only sound he could make was a choked wheeze, his throat wrecked from the intrusion. He tried talking, but his voice would cut out and crack with every attempt, causing him to panic and thrash against his bindings. 

“Stop it,” Les said, anger coming through in his voice, making the slave obey instantly. He circled the table, sighing in frustration when he saw the thick sex toy protruding slightly from his slave’s entrance—drops of blood staining the table beneath it from how forcefully the large object had been pressed in. “Take a breath, Babe. I’m going to pull it out.”

Gerard let out a strangled cry and braced himself, his posture going rigid as Les grabbed the end of the toy and started pulling. There wasn’t nearly enough lubricant and more blood came to the surface as the toy was removed. Les threw the offending item aside and gave gerard’s thigh a gentle stroke, hoping to soothe him. There were bruises on his legs—not just from the bindings but from being beaten. 

Les could barely stand it. He could be cruel when his whores angered him, but he’d never do this… 

He undid the straps on each of his pet’s ankles, then moved to his wrists. Once all the bindings were off, he helped gerard to sit up, then hissed in disgust when he saw spatters of blood on the table. He made gerard stay sitting up, having to help support him by his shoulders, and then leaned over to observe his pet’s back.

It was littered with open sores—pressure wounds from lying on the hard table for _days._

Rage rushed into him, filling every vacant space in his chest as he wrapped his arms around his shaking pet. Gerard was trying to speak but could only sob and pant for air. Gerard hated to have anything in his mouth, and the dildo gag Les had purchased years before had always been a silent threat to keep gerard in line. Les never intended for it to be used by anyone else—had placed it somewhere Carl should never have looked—and had always intended to use it for severe punishments when pain just wouldn’t do. He didn’t want it used for torture—and that was what this had been.

“Hush. It’s alright. I’m home.” Les smoothed the hair of his slave’s head, but couldn’t stand the smell of him enough to give him a kiss as he usually would to offer comfort. “You’re alright. I’m going to take you upstairs and no one is going to hurt you. We’ll get you in the bath.”

Gerard kept trying to say ‘Master’ over and over, pleading for affection—for forgiveness—as he clutched onto Les’s clothing. Les forced him off the table and onto his feet, but nearly had to carry him to get him up the stairs. They had to stop several times in order for gerard to find his strength. His limbs shook terribly as he struggled to walk, and if Les weren’t supporting him, there was no way he would’ve been able to stand.

When they finally reached the kitchen, Les’s other slaves were standing there. Marcus was crying and adam looked at them with indifference—though fear still showed deep in his eyes. He could tell his master was angry and feared repercussions for not protecting gerard. 

“Where is Carl?” Les asked, looking to adam.

“Packing his things, Master,” adam answered, his voice a low whisper. 

“What happened here?” Les asked, gesturing toward gerard who leaned heavily on his shoulder, trembling. 

“M-Master, can I _please_ get him the blanket off the couch? He’s cold,” marcus cried, looking at Gerard helplessly.

'“Fine—adam. Tell me what happened,” Les said, not missing a beat. He wanted answers before Carl came back downstairs and frightened his slaves again.

“Sir said…he wanted to have sex with gerard and gerard said no. He beat him and put him in the basement. That’s all I know,” adam said, watching as marcus hurried back into the room and wrapped the soft throw blanket from the couch around gerard’s shoulders. 

“Gerard, did he use you?” Les asked, looking at his slave who stared up at his brokenly. That look said enough. “Marcus, take him upstairs. Get him in the bath.”

“M-Master, he needs food,” marcus said, sniffing as he started to cry. The two pets were close—too close—and every bit of pain gerard was in, marcus felt as well. 

“He’ll get food, but I want him clean. Take him upstairs.” Les shifted gerard from his shoulder onto marcus who wrapped an arm around him as the two began their slow, painful trek up the stairs.

“Did he use you?” Les asked, looking at adam who was eyeing joshua with great jealousy and fear. He knew what it meant when a new whore moved in. 

“No, Master,” adam said, meeting his keeper’s gaze as he spoke. “He didn’t use marcus either. He wanted gerard.”

Shortly after adam finished speaking, Carl came back downstairs, his luggage in hand.

“Yeah… Gerard caused me some problems,” Carl said. “He’s mean, that one. He’s got a mouth on him, too. I had to gag him to get him to stop yelling.”

“Yes,” Les said, finding it hard to hide his brewing rage. “But did you need to lock him in the basement for a week? He’s sick. He can’t even speak.”

“You have to know how he is, right?” Carl said, smiling nervously. He looked toward adam as if he expected the slave to come to his defense, but adam just glared at him. Of all the whores Les had owned, adam was the only one who seemed to understand Les’s way of thinking. He often seemed to know what his Master was planning before Les even got the idea in his head. Gerard was similar, but he was naïve—often believing he could get out of trouble or find ways to hide his mistakes or talk his way out of them. Adam knew better. “That one just has a way of getting under your skin—always running his mouth,” Carl insisted.

“Yes, he does,” Les said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He went through his contacts until he found his doctor. His _private_ doctor. 

“Who are you calling?” Carl asked, looking from Les to adam who shifted uncomfortably and stared at the floor. 

“My doctor. Gerard is sick. He needs medical attention—”

“Hollman,” came the voice down the line.

“Yes, this is Hollman,” Les said. “My gerard is sick.”

“Sick or dead?” The doctor asked. 

“Sick. And I need a cleaning crew. The place is a wreck.”

Carl looked back and forth between adam and Les, even eyeing joshua anxious, trying to ease his way closer to the door but not willing to run for it like his instincts commanded. 

Les hurried the doctor off the phone and then started for the kitchen. Just as he reached the room, he heard the rush of water in the pipes as the faucet was turned on in the tub upstairs—marcus finally helping gerard into the bath. 

“Come. Have a drink with me,” Les said, acting casual as he gestured for Carl to follow him. Adam and joshua followed him immediately, somehow giving Carl the comfort to follow him even though Les could tell how nervous the man was. 

He knew his fortunes were at stake over this. He could afford any whore he wanted to buy yet he owned none. He could afford any prostitute, yet he’d had to force himself on gerard. 

“I see you found one you liked,” Carl said, clearing his throat as adam grabbed two wine glasses and Les grabbed a bottle of good wine from the small cooler beneath the island bar in the kitchen. 

“You mean him?” Les asked, casting his gaze toward joshua who smiled at him when their eyes met. Already so well trained. “Yes. He cost more than my last two combined, but I think he’s worth it. Gerard cost me a lot of money too, though.” Les set down the bottle and absently pulled open a drawer. He acted as if to get a bottle opener as he waited for Carl’s reply.

“I really wouldn’t have left him down there if he weren’t running his mouth. He said he was going to go find is master. Did you want me to just let him run around the house at night?—Let him leave?”

“Their bedroom has a lock. They won’t climb out the windows. Gerard knows better than to run away. My Gerard loves me. He’s the best whore I’ve ever had.”

“Maybe, but he’s disrespectful,” Carl said, setting his luggage down on the floor.

They’d been friends before this whole mess, but Les could never be friends without anyone who would damage his property. Using gerard was the same as stealing from Les’s home—or burning it down. Such an inconsiderate act could not go unpunished. 

“He’s trained to serve _me._ Just _me._ And you should never have put your goddmaned hands on him!” Les quickly moved his hand from the drawer and reached for his waistband, under the hem of his suit jacket. Carl barely had time to widen his eyes in surprise before Les’s face twisted into a snarl and he’d aimed his pistol and fired three shots. 

Adam dropped to the floor at the sound of the gunshots and joshua screamed and fell back against the wall—not trained to see murder, not prepared to be showered in a rain of blood. 

“Master!?” Marcus, barely audible over the ringing in Les’s ears, calling to him from the top of the stairs. “Master, are you alright!?” 

Moments later, marcus was in the kitchen as well and gasped when he saw the body and all of the blood.

“You two clean this up,” Les commanded, looking at marcus then going to grab adam and pull him up from the floor—pushing him toward the body. “They’ll be here soon to pick him up. Just clean up the blood as best you can. Don’t answer the door. Call for me.”

With that, Les put his gun back in the holster and started for the stairs, leaving joshua behind. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do yet—whether to put bullet through the head of his favorite whore and spare him the misery of his healing wounds or to offer him comfort. He couldn’t keep gerard—not now that he’d been tainted. 

Could he?

Marcus had come to him ruined, adam had been thoroughly used before he came to live at Les’s estate… Gerard’s mouth had been used by his trainer, but Les was still the only lover the pet had known…until Carl had to defile him. 

When Les made it upstairs, he checked his whores’ bathroom first, but it was empty. Marcus had, for whatever reason, hidden his pet away in the master bathroom. That was where Les found gerard, sitting in the bath, pressed firmly against the wall of the tub and shaking hard—frightened by the gunfire. He tried to speak, but his voice continued to crack and fall away to silence despite his efforts.

“He’s dead,” Les said. “No one puts their hands on my property but me.”

Gerard didn’t relax at all. He knew his Master was armed and he feared that the next bullet would be directed at him. 

It should be. He was suffering and didn’t deserve the misery of healing. 

But Les couldn’t do it. His fingers twitched, his mind trying to make his hand go for the gun but his heart resisting his efforts. 

Big, hazel eyes were trained on him—timid, fearful, utterly submissive. 

He knew his life could be over in seconds but he wasn’t even trying to plead for it to be spared. He sat there, naked in the tub, waiting to find out what his Master’s decision would be. 

“I’m going to bring you food,” Les said, speaking loudly over the ringing in his ear. Gerard nodded obediently and stared. “What do you want?”

Gerard shook his head—he didn’t know. He wanted whatever his Master would give him, be it food, drink, or a gunshot to the head.


	3. The Point at which Time Begins Running Out

_Chapter Three_

Gerard trembled as he lie in his Master’s bed sheets, waiting for his Master to come back to him. He didn’t care for food anymore now that his Master had let him eat crackers and small slivers of bread dipped in a salty, herbal sauce. Marcus had been sent to care for him—help him hold and dip the slices of bread, and refill his cup—and gerard was more than grateful for the companionship. 

Master had killed Carl and the men had come to take the body. Blood from Master’s friend stained marcus’s clothes, but gerard tried to ignore it as he ate. The pain in his jaw had been enough of a distraction. For the first few bites of food, it was close to impossible to get his mouth to close all the way—just jaw sticking and cracking as he tried to force it shut. Without marcus there to comfort him, gerard knew he would’ve begun to panic.

Once the men were gone, Master came upstairs and told gerard it was time to get out of the tub. Marcus was order to help him dry off and to cover his wounds, but gerard was not presented with any nightclothes to change into so he was made to come into his Master’s bedroom naked—marcus helping to keep him upright as his legs were still uneasy.

There was someone else in Master’s bed, however, when gerard made it out of the room. Someone young—too young—lounging across the mattress as if he belonged there. 

Replaced. 

Someone was going to be replaced and gerard had a terrible feeling that it was going to be him. What use did Master have for a pet that had been used by someone else? What use did He have for a broken, frightened toy?

Gerard looked around the room for his Master, but couldn’t see Him anywhere—nor could he hear Him speaking to adam in the next room or talking on the phone in His office down the hall. 

“Lie on the bed,” marcus said, rubbing gerard’s shoulders and guiding him toward the California king bed where the stranger was resting. “Master will be happy to see you getting along with him. We have to keep Him happy.”

He was right, and gerard knew it. The only way to make Master spare his life—or spare him being sold in another auction—was to behave, to be perfect like he used to be. And with his legs shaking so hard as it was, gerard knew it was in his best interest to lie on the bed next to the strange boy and wait for his Master to come for him. 

Marcus helped to get gerard situated, convincing him that their Master couldn’t get upset at him if he crawled under the blankets to get warm.

Master was so angry at the bad man for hurting gerard and leaving him cold and hungry in the basement that He’d shot him, marcus said. How could He get mad at His pet for seeking warmth now? 

He couldn’t, marcus swore. He simply couldn’t. 

So gerard lie there, staring at the stranger who stared at him—both of them knowing what came next but uncertain at the same time. The stranger was safe. He wasn’t going to die if he followed the rules, and judging by how calmly he lie on the sheets, he was in no danger. Gerard, on the other hand, might survive the night or a week or two more, but he was old. He was the favorite before he’d been used, and if he didn’t show his Master that he could recover from the pain he would be replaced. He would be thrown out or disposed of like the bad man. 

It felt like hours before Master returned. Adam was behind Him, but Master quickly told him and marcus to go to their own room and leave Him and gerard alone. 

Gerard watched silently as macrus kissed their Master goodnight and left the room, then stared as his Master undressed. He put His gun in the lockbox, placed carefully in His dresser drawer, then hung up His suit jacket and slipped off His shoes.

Gerard wanted to get up and help Him, hang up His trousers or put away His belt, but his body was shaking and he feared he would just make himself look more helpless—more deserving of a bullet through the skull. 

Master went into the bathroom to brush His teeth, then returned and finished undressing. He changed into night clothes, then switched on the bedside lamp and turned off the overhead lights. Once they were off, He crawled into bed between His slaves and kissed the new one on the mouth. 

Gerard closed his eyes, sorrow overwhelming him.

When Master said He was going away for work, gerard imagined how it would be when He returned. Gerard was going to have the house cleaned spotless and was going to make his Master’s favorite dinner—then they would all gather around to hear their Master’s stories from His travels. Then gerard would make sure to give kisses and get all the affection he could. He wanted to be number one. He wanted to be their Master’s favorite. Now, he was the one about to be replaced and there was nothing he could do.

But when he felt a soft kiss on his forehead, gerard’s eyes snapped open and he stared at his Master in surprise. 

“My doctor will be here in the morning to look at you. I know you’re scared, but don’t be. You’re going to be fine.”

Gerard tried to ask forgiveness, but his voice still wouldn’t work. His throat hurt from the strain of his efforts, but all his strife earned him was the shaking of his Master’s head. 

“You be quiet. I’m going to let you sleep here tonight because I know you’re going to be scared without me. Am I right?”

Gerard nodded his head and dared to scoot a little closer on the mattress. He hoped his Master would hold him and not the new boy, but doubted he would be able to attract the precious attention. Why would Master want him? He’d been touched by someone else and this new _child_ was probably a virgin.

Master would want to spend his first night home with his new toy, not gerard. Not a worthless, tainted slut. 

“No more crying. I don’t want to hear you crying all night.” After that, his Master switched off the bedside lamp and shuffled his way under the covers. He lie on His back and let out a heavy sigh and wrapped an arm around the new boy, leaving gerard to scoot a little closer on his own in search of comfort. 

The bed and blankets—the nightclothes he wore—were all a great comfort compared to the cold table he’d been subjected to all week, but they weren’t enough. He was spoiled, selfish, and needed his Master’s affection. He was able to fold himself against his Master’s body, but was harshly scolded when he tried to put his head on his Masters shoulder. 

It was hard to sleep after that, but Gerard managed after a while—exhaustion taking over and rendering him unconscious and still.


	4. In Which An Animal May As Well Be Human

Frank was up even before his alarm started beeping. It was going on three-thirty in the morning and he knew if he got up now, he would be able to take his baby on her walk before his shower and still have time to eat breakfast before his shift started at five-thirty. 

Not even a year ago he would’ve taken the extra time to sleep in—nap until the absolute last moment he had to be up without being late. Not even a year ago he would’ve refused taking a second job that required him to be up before the sun, but now things were different. Now, he wasn’t living his life for himself anymore—he had responsibilities and obligations. He had a baby to take care of too.

Before the alarm could go off, Frank rolled over and switched the dial before turning on his bedside lamp. The shifting of the blankets roused his baby who snorted as loudly as her little body could allow before she stood up and made her way to the head of the bed. She tripped a few times on the tangled up blankets, groaning as her dainty legs gave out beneath her time and time again.

“Hi, Sweet Pea,” Frank said when the tiny dog finally reached his face. He smiled wide, but ad to keep his lips pressed tightly together to avoid her tongue getting into his mouth when she licked his face—his kiss good morning. “Yes. Hi, Baby,” Frank said, chuckling as he turned his face away from her sloppy kisses.

She yapped at him, then wriggled around, shaking her whole body in an attempt to wag her tail. Sweet Pea, his baby…the reason he’d moved out of his mother’s house at age eighteen. She didn’t want that “rat” living with them, he had to take her back to the rescue center _at once._ She was disgusting, his mother said. Repulsive. And she just _wouldn’t_ tolerate having her in the house.

That was the last straw for Frank. He could deal with her restrictive attitude, her oppressive rules—be home be eight o’clock on nights he didn’t work, no friends over on weekends, don’t play guitar when she’s having Bible Study with the youth group and their mothers—but he wouldn’t allow her to take away his pet. His baby. 

At the time he’d worked for a popular diner in town as a dishwasher—the nightshift. He hated the job, but he got paid and was allowed to eat food sent back to the kitchen which was a great perk. His boss’s nephew managed a cluster of apartments and he told Frank he could get him a good rate if he proved a clean, respectful tenant.

It meant having to give up practicing on the electric guitar, but Frank thought it was worth it. He could still play his acoustic anytime he’d like as long as he was reasonable. For two hundred and fifty dollars a month, he really couldn’t complain—utilities included. At the start he had to keep Sweet Pea a secret, but he managed to get the landlord’s wife to love her as much as he did and he was permitted to have her so long as he cleaned up after her.

In no time at all—one evening, really, while his mother was at a church function—Frank had packed up and moved out. He cut all ties with his mother—not just over the dog—and began his life on his own. 

And he had to say he was doing a damned fine job taking care of himself. Sure, he pretty much became a slave to the diner, but he really had nothing else going for him.

Nothing outside of Sweet Pea anyway. He had money enough for rent and bills and food for himself and his baby and it was hard to get by, but when his boss at the diner noticed him struggling he was quick to offer support.

He couldn’t make Frank a full-time employee, incapable of affording an insurance plan or benefits for him, but there was a second restaurant—a sister restaurant to the diner—on the other side of town. If Frank wanted it, he could be a server there. They would make sure his schedules coincided and that he would have at least one day off from both locations each week so he wouldn’t get burned out. 

But what about Sweet Pea, Frank had asked. If he was working full time—essentially split shifts divided between two locations with only a couple of hours between the sifts—who would watch Sweet Pea? What would happen to his baby?

The dog yapped at him again and Frank finally pulled himself out of his bed sheets and picked Sweet Pea up from the mattress. He carried her with him as he shuffled his way into the kitchen, holding her with one arm as he stood at the counter and fixed her breakfast—a bowl of kibble with half a tin of wet food mixed in to make it soggy. 

She didn’t have many teeth left and needed all the help she could get to eat properly. 

The whole time Frank held her, she wiggled her body—as if her tail shook the rest of her—and snorted happily, her massive eyes fixed on the bowl. Sometimes she would slobber all over him, acting as if she hadn’t been permitted to eat in weeks, but today she was being good. Only one string of drool was connected to Frank’s bare arm as he carried her to his kitchenette table. 

He set the bowl down on the table, then set her down in front of it, making sure she was a safe distance from the edge before he backed away to fix his own breakfast. Oatmeal today, made with vanilla soy milk with some freshly sliced peach added in. 

He diced the peach while the oatmeal cooked in the microwave, then dumped the cut up fruit into the bowl, grabbed a spoon, and made his way to the table. 

Sweet Pea looked up at him and wagged her tail, then set back to eating her breakfast as Frank sat down in front of her and started stirring his food together.

“What do you think, Sweet Pea: Shower first or walk first?” Frank asked, looking at the grey, little dog. 

Sweet Pea lifted her head and barked once, then stuffed her face back down into her dish.

“Shower?” Frank asked, giggling at the dog’s loud moaning and snorting as she tried to eat and breathe at the same time. “That’s what I was thinking too.”

( ) ( ) ( )

He knew he had to look like the poster child for homosexuality when he carried his Chihuahua- _thing_ with him into the gas station. He was dressed in all black—his dress shirt for his serving job with his nicest trousers and slip-resistant shoes—and had his long hair scooped off to the side. He wanted to look harsh and intimidating so no one would dare tell him to tie his “animal” up outside. 

Fortunately, the clerk today was female and she giggled when Frank came in. She tried to stifle it when Frank looked at her, but Sweet Pea chose that exact moment to yawn—and then burp. 

Frank blushed and carried Sweet Pea to the back of the store with him as he poured himself a large fountain drink to last him at work. Sweet Pea kept wiggling, eager to get on the floor and sniff all of the products and muddy shoe-prints, but Frank held her tight and told her to be good. Once his soda was full, he went to the counter and set down the drink, then fished in his pocket for his wallet with his only free hand.

“I like your dog,” the clerk said, grinning at Frank like a Cheshire Cat. 

“Thanks,” Frank said as he awkwardly fished a five out of his wallet. 

“What’s her name?” The cashier asked, grinning and ignoring the bill Frank set on the counter.

“Sweet Pea.”

“She’s so _old looking,_ ” the cashier said. 

“Yeah,” Frank said dismissively. “Just the soda.”

“Don’t want to try your luck?” The cashier asked, tapping the plastic lottery case next to her register. 

“Not really,” Frank said.

“Aw, come on. There’s a contest between night shift and day shift to see who can sell the most lottery tickets. There’s one with a little puppy on it,” the cashier pressed, leaning over the counter, almost knocking the soda cup over, as she pointed at the right window of the plastic case. “A portion of proceeds go to New Jersey animal shelters.”

“Fine, whatever,” Frank said. 

“Your pop is a dollar seventy-five. Do you want three tickets? They’re only a dollar each,” the cashier asked, holding up is five dollar bill.

“Sure. Why not,” Frank said, shifting his weight as Sweet Pea tried to squirm away from him. 

The cashier grinned and marked something down on a notepad behind the counter, then rang him up for his soda and three lottery tickets without even carding him first. He had to fumble around to get the cards into his back pocket, then mumbled a word of parting before carrying Sweet Pea and his large soda outside. 

Once they were on the sidewalk, he set Sweet Pea down and let her excitedly sniff the pavement as he held tightly onto her leash. It was another ten minutes of walking before they reached Frank’s other job at the second diner. He had a license but no car, meaning his commute to work was about to turn rough as summer gave way to fall. Now it would start to rain, then freeze. And poor Sweet Pea would have to be bundled up in layers when he took her with him to work in the wintertime. 

“Here early again!” Came a voice as Frank rounded the corner and approached the diner. It was one of the regulars on her way out. “And you brought Sweet Pea again,” she said, voice dripping with sick fondness. 

She was a nice old woman, but she reeked of cigarette smoke and cat urine. Sweet Pea used to growl at her, but he’d gotten used to the woman poking at her face and petting her head. 

“I bring her every night,” Frank said. 

“That’s right—you don’t have a nice girl to stay at home and watch her for you,” the woman said. She didn’t knew his preference was for men, but his boss said it was better that way. They were in a conservative neighborhood and though he had no oppositions to Frank’s “alternative lifestyle,” some of the customers did and there was no need to go advertising it.

“No, not yet,” Frank said as he walked past the front door and made his way around the side to the employee entrance. Sweet Pea was allowed to come inside, but she had to stay in a crate in the break room and customers couldn’t see her—what with health and safety regulations. 

“Better hurry up then, dear!” the old woman called after him. “You’re not getting any younger. I have a daughter if you’d like to meet her.”

“Maybe next week,” Frank called as he opened the door and hurried inside. “Not even if you paid me,” he muttered. “Right, baby?” he asked as he picked up Sweet Pea. She licked his face—as close to a gesture of agreement as Frank could get—and then snorted as he carried her to the break room.


	5. Where the Hierarchy Shifts

He was called joshua, gerard’s replacement. He was fourteen, a year younger than gerard had been when Trainer had gotten him and prepared him for his Master. He had been fifteen and Master adored him right away. 

Joshua didn’t get away with things—Master had already administered one of His harshest physical punishments within the first week joshua had been in the house—but he got more attention than gerard, marcus, or adam combined. After the first three days, gerard was kicked out of his Master’s bedroom and made to stay in the other room—made to lie next to marcus and _adam._

Gerard _hated_ that. He’d tried to sneak back in his Master’s room after He had gone to sleep, but had immediately been caught, smacked, yelled at, and sent back to the other room in tears where adam scoffed at him.

Any other time, gerard would’ve attacked adam for that. He never let himself be the butt of anyone’s jokes. He was the youngest. He was the most attractive. He was Master’s _favorite._ Before joshua came.

After joshua, after what the bad man had done to him, gerard was no different than adam or marcus. He was an afterthought to their Master. 

He was damaged property and he knew—just as he’d known when he’d been sitting in the bath that night—that his time was almost up. Master was deciding what to do with him and gerard was beginning to fear that he would never be able to win back His love. 

For the first few nights after Master came home, gerard felt comforted and secure. Master held him, petted his hair, kept him close… He didn’t get kisses on the mouth though. That was the first red flag. Master loved kissing—kissing got Him in the mood and there was little else He enjoyed in life besides sex with His pets. 

But He didn’t want sex from gerard. Gerard was worthless to Him now that that other man had taken him, broken his throat and wrecked his voice. His jaw still ached and clicked when he tried to chew food… It irritated his Master and he knew that irritations didn’t survive long in the house.

The only time gerard was redeemed was when the doctor came to visit. Gerard did his very best to be obedient and complacent—let the stranger touch him. Let the stranger examine him and put fingers in him, behave as if it didn’t hurt when the old man manipulated his jaw and treated his sores. His Master said He was proud of how well gerard behaved and rewarded him by letting him sleep in His bed after every visit. The doctor came twice a week and gerard found himself eager for the visits. Master stayed close and that was a comfort. During the examinations, Master didn’t care about joshua. 

He wanted to know if gerard was seriously injured, or if his respiratory infection was clearing up. He wanted to know if there was a medicine gerard could take, or a diet he should follow so he would get better faster. It showed how much his Master cared and gerard felt so blessed, so lucky to have a Master that cared for him at all.

Those days spent strapped to the table reminded him of his Trainer, and Trainer beat him more and more if he was sick. He got angry if gerard’s bleeding didn’t stop easily or if a wound started to get infected.

Master wasn’t like that. Master showed concern. Every evening after his shower, Master would inspect the sores on gerard’s back to see if they were getting better, then He’d kiss gerard’s shoulder and instruct him on which bed to sleep in. Gerard’s heart pounded the entire time, hoping He would say “get in bed,” meaning His bed. If His response was “go to your room,” gerard’s spirits would sink and it’d be hard to keep back the tears as he went to his and the other pets’ room.

As it was, two weeks had gone by and gerard had yet to get a single kiss on the lips from their Master. He was determined to change that. He wanted his Master to see that nothing had changed—even if the bad man had touched him and he had started having the nightmares again. Gerard was still faithful only to Him. He cared for marcus, but he loved _only_ his Master. 

So, after nearly two and a half weeks, gerard formed a plan to prove his love, his dedication—his obedience. He was going to show his Master that he was still well trained, still deserving of a place in the house even if he could never be the favorite again. 

As soon as Master left that morning, gerard got up and dressed himself in the very best clothes that his Master afforded him. He thought to put on his eye liner like he use to before being locked in that godforsaken basement, but hesitated. He’d save that for later—closer to the time that his Master would be coming home so it wouldn’t get smeared or streaked as he tidied up the house. 

While Master was away at work, gerard set to cleaning up the bedroom. A lot had been overlooked since the bad man had come. Gerard didn’t help clean as much since he’d been feeling so sick and Master had given him permission to lie down and sleep whenever he felt necessary during the day. Now gerard was seeing all the damage that had caused. The bed hadn’t been moved to allow the carpet underneath to be swept—same with the end tables (though the dressers and wardrobe were too large and heavy to be moved). Dust was gathering on the legs and feet of the dresser and the wardrobe as if the others had simply forgot that the bottom half of the furniture existed, and there was a sock—a sock!—under the bed in a little ball.

And it was one of _Master’s_ socks too. Gerard bet that one of the others had thrown the partner to this sock away to hide the fact that they’d lost one… That or they buried it deep in the dresser drawer hoping their Master wouldn’t see.

Gerard just wouldn’t stand for that. Not at all. 

He put the lost sock in the dirty hamper, then finished cleaning the room and straightening the bedding. It had already been done once, but not properly. Joshua had probably tried to do it after sex that morning and it was clear the idiot child couldn’t get it right. 

After Master’s room, gerard moved on to his room and the other pets’ room. It didn’t have to be cleaned thoroughly since Master seldom came inside except to pick one of them out either for sex or punishment, but gerard took the time to dust and vacuum and change the filthy bedding since it was starting to smell. He gathered the laundry then and took it downstairs to be washed. 

Adam scoffed at him when he saw the bedding had been changed and gerard scowled at him as he adjusted the dials on the washing machine. They exchanged no words—they seldom did when Master wasn’t around (not since gerard had smashed adam’s face into cupboard door the previous year)—but their cold stares spoke multitudes. 

Adam would be glad if gerard were shot. Adam was glad gerard had been put in the basement and tortured to begin with. 

Gerard… He wanted adam dead. If he could think up a good enough ploy to get their Master to replace adam with joshua instead of him, he would use it in a heartbeat. Hell, he wanted to dream up a way to get adam shot. He’d tried once before—tried telling their Master that adam had tried to escape—but Master knew he was lying and beat him severely for it. The memory of that punishment was enough to leave gerard in tears from the shame and he shook his head as it bubbled up, then walked away from the laundry room. 

Marcus had already cleaned the kitchen and adam and joshua were working on the parlor. Gerard set to cleaning up the living room—the seating area Master actually used as opposed to the parlor which mainly sat empty, gathering dust. He dusted away crumbs, vacuumed the floor and the couch cushions as well as the curtains—taking a moment to stare outside at the tree line as he did. 

Master’s house was encased by trees, but they weren’t thick. It wasn’t like the forest. It was like someone had planted them to create a wall between Master’s estate and the rest of the world. There was a garden out past the parlor, a patio beyond the kitchen, and a yard and trees beyond the living room—but Gerard had never set foot outside the house to enjoy them.

Master had said once that he’d take gerard into the garden if he behaved—many, many years ago—but that moment had never come. Geard had never been good enough, it seemed. Now, he was almost certain his Master had forgotten the promise and knew better than to ever bring it up.

He would never run if his Master let him outside. He would never, _ever_ try to leave the man and the home he loved, but Master just didn’t believe that. He didn’t understand that gerard had come from nothing, had been worth nothing, before Master. And now, even if he was still just a whore—a pet at most—he was still something to his Master. He had a purpose here which he’d never had before, and he knew that nothing else outside of these walls could ever provide for him the security and comfort he found here. 

Gerard kept that in mind as he continued cleaning circles around marcus and the other two. Whatever they cleaned, he cleaned again. He didn’t stop for a midday snack. He didn’t stop to help prepare dinner. He cleaned and he cleaned, then he washed himself up and started putting on makeup in the bathroom he shared with marcus and the other two sluts. 

“What are you doing?” Joshua, standing behind him in the doorway.

Gerard glared at him through the glass, but didn’t answer. His throat hurt and, to be honest, the worthless little creature didn’t deserve a response. 

“That makeup is all yours?” He pressed, coming further into the room. Gerard’s lip curled in disgust but he couldn’t act on the anger boiling in his stomach. If he snapped and smashed joshua’s face into the medicine cabinet the way adam had snapped the year before and put gerard’s face into the reflective glass, there was no way Master was going to forgive him. Right now, joshua was the new favorite and gerard was going to have to change that with obedience, submission, a tad bit of seduction and charm. That was all he could do.

“Get out,” Gerard hissed, his voice still hoarse. It would probably get better if he spoke more regularly, but it hurt to talk and he didn’t see the point. He would whisper to marcus at night, but that was different than speaking up.

“Why? I was just seeing what you’re doing,” the boy said, coming up to gerard’s side and picking up his eye liner pen. 

Gerard had already finished using it, but it made him anxious once the boy had it. What if he started getting ideas like putting it on himself? Gerard needed all the help he could get to look perfect. That stupid boy already looked like a little angel. He didn’t deserve any help.

“Put it down and get _out,_ ” gerard hissed.

“Fine,” the boy snapped, glaring at gerard and throwing the pen back on the marble countertop. “You know, you shouldn’t act all high and mighty. He doesn’t even like you anymore.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Gerard growled, turning away from the mirror and facing the boy straight on—glaring with all the ferocity he had. His voice was cleared, but not by much, and the rasp he still had only made him sound that much more sinister. 

“That He doesn’t even like you.”

“That’s a lie,” gerard barked, struggling to sound fierce even though his voice was still wrecked from the bad man’s assault. 

“No it’s not. He told me so last night when we were in bed—He told me ‘I’ve got to get rid of gerard.’”

“He did not!” Gerard screamed, using rage to mask his heartache. That couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be true. Master loved him. He was the favorite—he’d always been their Master’s favorite. He would never lay next to Joshua and tell him that he needed to be rid of gerard. “He would never say that! Ever!”

“But He did,” joshua said, not at all daunted by gerard’s anger. “You’re gross. He doesn’t even want you in His bed anymore. You should do Master a favor and off yourself before He gets home. Save Him the trouble.”

Gerard growled and lashed out at the boy, slapping him across the mouth as hard as he could. Joshua stumbled backwards, clutching at his cheek. It should have been enough, but the words cut gerard so deeply he couldn’t block them out. 

He was unwanted. Unloved. Better off dead even though he loved his Master more than anything else in the world. It was a reality too harsh to face and the only way he knew to feel better was to put joshua back in his place. 

After slapping him, he pushed the boy backwards by his shoulders before striking him again—then a third time, knocking him to the floor. 

“I’m going to tell!” Joshua cried, actual tears forming in his eyes. The childish threat did nothing to deter gerard who set to kicking him while growling that their Master still loved him. 

“He needs me! He _loves_ me! He knows no one will ever take care of Him like I do!” Gerard screamed, voice cracking and breaking until it turned back into a wheezy rasp. “He’s _my_ Master! _My_ Master! I won’t let you take Him from me!”

Joshua was crying now, lying on the floor and shaking and covering his face in fear of more blows. Gerard stood over him, panting and struggling to hold himself back. Master _would_ hate him if he killed joshua. He’d think it was intentional—especially after what had happened with nick all those years ago…

“You need to learn your place,” gerard rasped, backing away and returning to his makeup. He made sure his eyeliner wasn’t smudged and concealed the marks on his cheeks and neck as best he could. When he finished, he stepped over joshua who had yet to move and made his way downstairs to wait for Master. 

He didn’t have to wait long. In less than half an hour he heard Master’s car pull into the drive. He stood by the door and waited while marcus and adam worked diligently on Master’s meal in the kitchen. It was finished except for the plating—but plating was only ever done after Master came inside. He hated it if His food got cold from sitting on the plates before He even took a bite.

Gerard had to fight to keep from chewing his lips as he waited, listening to the garage door open and close—staring at the door until he saw the knob turn and Master stepped inside. Immediately, gerard went to Him and wrapped his arms around his beloved Keeper’s shoulders.

“Master,” gerard whispered, nuzzling the man’s soft collar and inhaling the scent of His cologne on His throat. His Keeper remained stiff at first, His arms held slightly out to the side, briefcase dangling from His fingers, but slowly appeared to relax. “I missed you, Master,” gerard added when his Master said nothing to him.

“Oh, did you?” Master said, finally holding gerard in return. “Were you good today? You smell nice.”

“I tried my best,” gerard said, pulling back once Master let him go. “I-I cleaned up your room, Master. I did laundry and changed the sheets. I did everything I could—”

“You put your makeup on,” Master said as He closed the door and made His way into the house. He set his briefcase down by the couch in the living room, then made His way to the kitchen.

“I wanted to look good for you, Master,” gerard said, not ready to lose the attention to marcus and adam—and eventually joshua once Master noticed His new pet was missing.

“Why is that?” Master asked, not even looking at gerard as He spoke.

“I-I wanted to please you. I’m really trying—”

“Be quiet. You’ve strained your voice again. I hate the sound of it when you’re wheezing like that.”

Immediately, gerard’s spirits sank and his chest began to hurt. Tears rushed him, but he had to hold them back. If he cried he’d be smacked, and if he kept crying he would be beaten. This day was turning out to be awful enough and he didn’t want pain added to his already overwhelming heartache. 

There would be no extra attention for him tonight. His Master didn’t want him anymore—not even in the most basic of ways. He would probably never want gerard in that way again, not now that the bad man had had him. 

Gerard kept his head bowed as he hurried to help adam and marcus set the table.

“Where’s my joshua?” Master asked, stepping out of the kitchen and into the dining room. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs, Master,” marcus said softly.

“Last I heard, gerard beat him up,” adam said as he hurried into the room and set down Master’s wine glass. He always took wine with dinner. Always. The only variation was which type He ordered his pets to serve him.

“What did you say?” Master asked, looking to adam then turning to gerard with cold hostility. Gerard held his gaze for less than second and kept his head bowed as he straightened the already immaculate tablecloth. 

“I heard him hit joshua, but I knew if I went upstairs he’d just fight with me, too. You know how he gets, Master. He’s horrible when he’s jealous,” adam said, sending gerard a cold glare.

Master didn’t wait to hear more. He walked around the table, slapped gerard hard on the mouth, then made His way upstairs to joshua—to His new favorite pet.


	6. When Stars Begin to Align

Gerard lay on the edge of the bed, his shoulder and head propped up by the sad, deflated pillows he had to share with the other whores. Master had beaten him and scolded him for hitting joshua, going so far as to make gerard strip naked to receive the lashings with His belt. It lasted only minutes, but for gerard it felt like an eternity. His Master hated him and there was nothing he could do to win that love and affection back.

It was all the bad man’s fault, too. Had he not come, had he not tortured gerard in the way he had, Master would still love him. It would be either adam or marcus being replaced, not him. He was the youngest before joshua came. He was pretty one, the clean one—the favorite.

Now… Now gerard was nothing. 

Master hadn’t even come to check on him after sending him to the bedroom—not permitting him to have any dinner. Gerard was made to lay there without any attention or affection at all until bedtime when marcus and adam joined him. 

Adam yanked one of pillows out from under gerard’s head and called him cruel names as he undressed and changed into pajamas. Marcus was gentle, however, and promised gerard that in the morning their Master will have forgotten the whole thing. Joshua, it seemed, had already recovered from the blows and no lasting damage had been done. 

“He probably had it coming, too,” marcus whispered. “He tried to get me in trouble at dinner. He told Master I put something strange in the dinner and Master almost thought I tried to poison him.”

Gerard could hardly believe what he was hearing. Making an accusation like that could have been enough to get marcus killed, and gerard was shocked that this new child could do anything so bold.

“H-how did you get out of trouble?” Gerard asked, his voice still raw from shouting before and from sobbing after his beating.

“I showed Master that the strange thing joshua saw was just liquor—for the pasta sauce, you know? Master knows I love Him. He knows I’d never, ever hurt Him.”

“Did joshua get punished? He can’t lie like that.” Gerard watched as marcus changed for bed, trying to hide his admirations for the other man’s form—his dark skin and strong legs. He wasn’t built at all like their Master, but gerard still found him uniquely beautiful. 

“He would have if _somebody_ didn’t already beat him,” adam hissed. 

Gerard stared at him, glaring, but didn’t say anything else. He waited for marcus to come to their bed, then curled up beside him as adam turned off the lights. Down the hall, he could hear the distinct sounds of their Master and joshua having sex and it hurt so much to know that that wasn’t him—that it wouldn’t be him ever again. 

“He’s never going to forgive me, is He?” Gerard whispered, daring to put his head on marcus’s shoulder the way he did with their Master.

“He… He’s just getting used to joshua. That’s all. He’ll come back to us. Especially you,” marcus said, trying his hardest to keep gerard calm. Gerard appreciated the sentiments, even if he doubted they were true.

“Bullshit,” adam hissed. 

“Adam!” Marcus snapped.

“What? He deserves to know.”

“Know what?” Gerard asked, lifting his head. His heart started pounding, fearing the prospect that adam and marcus knew something he did not.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” marcus said, reaching out to smooth gerard’s hair and guiding him back down onto the bed. 

Adam didn’t say anything else, but gerard found no comfort at all in the silence. 

“Is He selling me?” Gerard asked, his voice a shaky whisper. It was a fate worse than death to be sold in the auctions. Anyone could buy him. Anyone at all. Any master or torturer or trainer. Anyone… Any monster with enough money could steal him away from this perfect life and return him to the torment and anguish he’d felt in his Trainer’s dungeon. “M-Marcus? D-Did He s-say He’s selling me?”

“No. Go to sleep. Nothing’s going to happen. Just sleep, gerard. You look awful when you haven’t slept and Master won’t like it.”

Next to them in the bed, adam huffed irritably. Gerard knew right away that marcus was lying. There was no way he would find sleep tonight, not when he knew that his beloved Master hated him so much that He would rather sell His pet than offer it the mercy of death. 

“I-I’ll ask Him to shoot me,” gerard whispered, sniffing back tears. “Maybe H-He’ll reconsider.”

“He isn’t selling you,” marcus continued to lie. “I promise. Just sleep.”

“I want Him to shoot me,’ gerard sobbed, clutching onto marcus as tightly as he could—trying to block out the sound of shrill screams from down the hall. 

Master had done something joshua clearly did not like, but the boy did not yet understand that his screams would do no good. Master liked screams. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank slid off his couch onto the floor, laughing hysterically at the end of Ray’s story. How he got into some of the situations he did, Frank would never know—but they made great entertainment at otherwise boring get-togethers. Cheap beer and Xbox were a fun combination, but when Ray was added to the mix it just got better. 

“I can’t believe that shit,” Frank said, gasping for breath between his words and laughter. “You got locked _in the bar?_ ”

“That’s what happens when you pass out in the back—people forget you’re there.”

“How could they forget _you_ though? You’re like…the abominable fuckin’ fro-man. You’re kinda hard to miss.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ray said, shaking his head as he took a swig of beer. 

“It’s a compliment,” Frank said, slumping down onto his face on the floor. Sweet Pea ran over to him, her tiny feet padding rapidly on the hardwood, and started sniffing his hair. “I’m okay, Baby. Yes—yes, I’m okay.” He giggled as the tiny dog started licking his face, too drunk to care when her little pink tongue got in his mouth. The grossness just made him laugh that much harder.

“What’s that?” Ray asked.

“What’s what?” Frank asked, looking over his shoulder at Ray who was staring at him—head tilted to the side. “Why are you starin’ at my ass?”

“I’m not looking at your ass. I’m trying to see what’s in your pocket.”

“My pocket?” Frank started sitting up, escaping Sweet Pea’s repetitive licks as he reached into his pocket. “Oh, yeah… The lady at the gas station this morning, she tricked me into buying them.”

“Buying what? Dog stickers?”

“They’re not stickers—they’re lottery tickets. Stupid scratch offs.”

“Oh. I won twenty-bucks with one of those. Did you scratch them yet?”

“No,” Frank said, setting the cards down on the coffee table. 

“Why not? I got a couple quarters,” Ray said, digging around in his pockets for change before tossing a couple down onto the table beside the cards. “Maybe you won something.”

“Alright,” Frank said, shrugging and forcing himself to sit up all the way in order to get a better view of the lottery tickets. “Here, you scratch this one and I’ll do these two.”

“Do I get this one if I win?” Ray asked.

“No—You can scratch it, but they’re my tickets,” Frank said, daring to sound a little possessive as the alcohol in his blood played keep away with his manners. 

“Fine, dick,” Ray said, laughing as he set to work scraping away the grey boxes. “This one’s a dud,” he said, tossing it aside and putting his quarter back in his pocket.

“Whoa! I think I won on this one,” Frank said, spirits mounting as he scratched away the boxes to reveal two reading $20.00. All he needed was a third $20.00 and he would be able to get a whole twenty bucks out of the three he’d spent on the stupid cards. “Dude! I won twenty bucks!” Frank screamed when he finished clearing away all the grey residue hiding the precious award amounts. 

“No way? Really?” Ray asked, grabbing up the ticket. “Dude… No. You didn’t.”

“I did too! Look! Three twenties—all in a row.”

“Frank, that one’s a two hundred. Not a twenty. You didn’t win anything.”

“What?” Frank asked, grabbing the ticket back and looking it over more closely. “Damn it…” Ray was right. One of the ones he’d mistaken for a twenty was a two hundred. Was he really that drunk?

“What’s the grand prize on these, anyway?” Ray asked, taking the ticket back and reading it more closely. 

“I don’t know,” Frank said, sniffing with disappointment as he started scratching the final card. 

“Fifteen-grand. Shit, I’d kill for fifteen thousand right about now,” Ray said to himself.

“Me too. I’d buy a car with that shit,” Frank muttered, rolling his eyes when his scratches revealed a $15k. This ticket was bound to be a dud—especially when there was another $15k in the next column. Frank groaned and shook his head. There was no point in even scratching the last three boxes. “This is stupid. I want my three bucks back,” Frank mumbled as he scratched away the remaining boxes. 

“Is that one a dud, too?” Ray asked, looking over. “Holy shit, dude!” 

“What?” Frank asked, flinching away at Ray’s suddenly booming voice. “What!?” He snapped again when Ray grabbed the ticket out from in front of him.

“Oh my God… I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Frank asked, more annoyed than ever. He wasn’t in the mood to play games. The first two columns had a $15k but the last one just said $15. He was no grand prize winner. 

“Frank, these are all fifteen-k. You won.”

“I’m not in the mood,” Frank grumbled, laying back on the floor and reaching for Sweet Pea who evaded him and ran back to her cushion on the floor. 

“I’m not fucking with you. Look. _Look!_ ”

Frank groaned and sat back up, taking the ticket when Ray pushed it into his hand.

“I don’t feel good, man. I’m really not in the mood,” he said as he looked down at the card. 

“Frank, seriously. I’m not fucking with you. Look!” Ray ran his finger across the card, pointing out the three matching numbers. 

$15k. $15k. $15k.

Holy shit.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard couldn’t believe what had happened—what his beloved Master let happen to him. Everything had seemed to be going so well. His Master let him have a second glass of wine with the dinner and when he started feeling drowsy, Master carried him—actually carried him—up to His room. Gerard got a kiss on the cheek and thought he would get more from his Master, but the man pulled away and left him alone to nap—or so it seemed.

Gerard had only closed his eyes a few minutes, it felt, before he was being rolled over onto his stomach. He tried to lift his head and look up at his Master, but his body just wouldn’t respond. He moaned and desperately tried to move, yet all of his motions were slow and sluggish and his pants were pulled down his hips. 

He yelped, voice muffled by the pillow, and that was when the other man spoke.

“Hush now. I’ll make it real fast.”

It wasn’t Master. 

At first, gerard thought it was the Bad Man, back to hurt him again even though Master promised him that man was dead. He tried so hard to get free, but no matter what he tried to do his body remained limp. 

All he could do was lay there in terror as the stranger pressed fingers into him, pressed his length inside of him. Gerard screamed, but all that came out was a shrill wheeze as he was violated. 

Where was Master? Where was his Master? 

He was angry about the Bad Man touching gerard, and now a stranger was destroy His property in His very own bed. Gerard shook in fear of the punishment he would receive for allowing this to happen. He didn’t want it, he’d tried to fight but nothing worked. 

The man finished with him, then put fingers in him again and touched gerard’s sensitive place until—face burning with shame—he came against the sheets and his stomach. As soon as he was done, the man rolled gerard over onto his back and tried to kiss his mouth. Gerard managed to turn his face away to avoid it, but all it earned him was a slap in its place.

The man got up, dressed, and left gerard alone—silently crying. Master came to the room after it was over and stroked gerard’s hair. He didn’t say anything about what had happened and that told gerard enough…

Master allowed it to happen. Master rented him to the man or worse—sold him…

Geard cried as the feeling slowly trickled back into his limbs. He was merciful for the numbness after learning his Master permitted the scene. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t fight off the stranger, that had been Master’s intention when he spiked gerard’s glasses of wine. It made it so the pain wasn’t as intense as the man violated him. 

“He was going to buy you if you were good for him…” Master said.

Gerard stared up at him and cried. He could tell by Master’s disappointed tone that the man had changed his mind. 

In his whole life, gerard had only had sex with one man—with Master. Then the Bad Man came, and now the stranger. He was so frightened of what would become of him now. Especially since Master was showing no signs of mercy. He wasn’t going to shoot gerard; He was going to keep him alive and make money off his misfortune. 

“He would’ve been a good Master.”

“I’m sorry,” gerard whispered, not because he was truly upset at himself for failing to give the man an enjoyable time, but because he was sad for disappointing his Master. 

“Babe… I can’t keep you. You know that.”

“I-I still love you, M-Master,” gerard whispered, knowing his pleas would be useless.

“I can’t keep you. You’re not _good,_ gerard. You fight with joshua, you argue with my friends when I send them to watch you… You’re just so _bad._ ”

Gerard cried softly and prepared himself for the very worst—the words he knew came next.

“You’ve really given me no choice. Since Dan doesn’t want you, I have to put you in the market.”

“D-Don’t have to,” gerard whimpered. “I can be good, Master. I-I can j-just clean for you. I’ll make dinner. Y-You don’t have to love me—just don’t sell me. Please, Master. I love you!”

It was useless. Master had made up His mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be the point at which Gerard and Frank finally meet. Thanks for being so patient!


	7. When Fortune and Misfortune Meet Under One Roof

Gerard sniffled as he straightened up his drawer in the bedroom he shared with the others. Every day he found his resolve weakening and fading away into nothing at all—leaving him a sobbing mess at any given moment. He could be fine one minute and weeping the next, no ability to keep his emotions in check as the clocked ticked away his final hours in the house.

After two more failed visits from strangers his Master wanted to buy him, Master told gerard that the auction really was the final resort. And the auction was coming up soon…

Gerard had been waxed, made completely hairless below the belt, and had his eyebrows done by marcus. He’d had his nails cleaned and cut and buffed until they looked nearly feminine, then his hair had been cut into a different, shorter style and dyed. He didn’t particularly like it, but Master said it looked good—better. 

Gerard began to feel less and less like himself as he counted down the days. As soon as he’d been waxed, he knew he had less than week and every hour brought more terror than the next. 

After straightening his clothes in the drawer, gerard went over to the bed and laid down. He couldn’t bring himself to do chores anymore, not even laundry for his beloved Master. It hardly mattered now… Not now that he was to be sold, now that he was unloved—unwanted. Valueless. It didn’t matter if he cleaned or not. Master wasn’t going to beat him anymore. He couldn’t scar up his valuable property before a sale…

It had been the same with Trainer. Trainer stopped the skin-splitting beatings, then stopped the bruising paddlings, then the choking until his skin hardly looked damaged at all. A little dull, maybe, with old marks, but not so repulsive as to put off the buyers.

Master was acting much the same… Gerard had only been whipped once since hearing that he was to be sold at auction—struck with the belt for close to half an hour for backtalk and bullying joshua. It was severe, but not as bad as it usually would have been if he weren’t going to be sold. 

Downstairs, the front door opened and closed. Gerard listened to marcus and joshua greet their Master. A tear worked its way down gerard’s cheek as he heard them kiss and Master start speaking of His day and how stressful it had been. 

Master knew nothing of stress. Master knew nothing about the anxiety that came with laying in bed day after day wondering what was about to happen to Him. He didn’t have to fear what sort of person would come into ownership of Him—if it would be a kind Master or a cruel man? A lover or a torturer? 

Gerard feared with every fiber of his being that he would be sold to a dungeon—sentenced to a living hell where the only contact his body would ever receive was pain. The sort of hell his Trainer had kept him in for months. 

Master knew nothing of stress…

Gerard closed his eyes and rolled onto his stomach when he heard Master start coming up the stairs. He was probably going to be scolded again for hiding, but he couldn’t bring himself to go downstairs. He didn’t want to greet his Master, he was mad at Him—he was hurt by Him.

“Gerard—Come here. Now,” his Master called, standing at the top of the stairs. Gerard lifted his head, but didn’t obey. He used to be the good pet, the good whore. Now he saw no point. The beatings wouldn’t be severe. “Gerard, _now!_ ”

Sighing, gerard heaved himself up off the mattress and stepped slowly into the hall, his arms crossed protectively over his chest and his head down.

“I should _not_ have to call you twice,” his Master snapped. “Look at me!”

Gerard lifted his chin just enough to look his Master in the eye, but ducked it again when he saw how angry Master looked. 

“I’ve had enough of this,” Master hissed. Gerard barely had time to blink before Master’s hand connected with his cheek. “Have I not been merciful?—Have I not been good to you, gerard?”

“Y-Yes, Master,” gerard whispered, clutching at his sore cheek. 

“And this is how you repay me? Hiding from me? Acting like a spoiled brat!?”

“I’m sorry, Master,” gerard cried. At the bottom of the stairs, gerard could hear joshua giggling at him. He scowled in the direction of the stairs, only to have Master smack him again and grab his chin—forcing him to make eye contact. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

“B-But, Master, he’s making fun of me!” Gerard sobbed, turning his eyes back toward the stairs—earning himself another blow to the face that left him seated on the floor, crying harder.

“I don’t give a shit! When I’m talking to you, you listen to me! I don’t care what joshua is doing!”

“Master,” gerard whimpered, rubbing his cheek with one hand and wiping his nose with the other. 

“Get up. Marcus made dinner and it’s the last thing you get to eat before tomorrow night. If your new master feels up to feeding you more than his cum.”

“M-Master!” Gerard stammered, eyes widening in shock as he was hoisted onto his feet and pushed toward the stairs. 

Tomorrow night? He was going to auction tomorrow night? 

“N-No, Master! Please, Master!—I-I don’t want to g-go!” Gerard tried to latch onto his Master only to be turned back towards the stairs. “I love you, Master! I-I’m still good, Master. I-I’ll wait b-by the d-door when you get home. _Please!_ ” All his begging was for naught, however. His Master pushed him harder until he started down the stairs, causing him to cringe each time his Master struck the back of his head. 

Joshua was poised at the bottom of the steps, smiling his cruel smile. 

“Go sit down like I told you,” was all Master said to him, squeezing the boy’s shoulder as he passed him. Joshua gave gerard one final, cruel smirk, then hurried to the dining room table and sat down in the seat on Master’s right side…

That had always been gerard’s seat.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank couldn’t help staring out his window in pride, ogling at his new car. It was a used car, but it was new to him, and he loved it despite the six years it already spent on the road. He’d gotten a good deal on it since the original owner wanted it gone to cover a divorce settlement and Frank was more than happy to fork over five grand for it. 

When he’d won the lottery, he’d been given two options—receive monthly payouts of a few hundred dollars every month over the next three years, or take the lump sum minus a fee and a bulk of taxes. He’d made out with close to eleven of the fifteen thousand which was more than enough to buy the car as well as guitar for himself and a new one for Ray on the off chance they got the chance to practice together soon. 

For Sweet Pea, he’d started buying her more expensive food and got her a new bed she really seemed to enjoy. At first he was a little disappointed in himself for how quickly he was blowing through the money, but then he reminded himself of how long it had been since he’d had enough money to be frivolous. He needed a car to get to work without having to walk in the rain and the snow when it came, and he’d been wanting a new guitar since he’d left his mother’s house. 

He deserved this. 

He deserved to live a little. 

After the car and the guitars, he had a little over five grand left that he was storing for later. Maybe a trip into the city tomorrow night would be a good idea since he’d requested he day off. He hadn’t had a Saturday off in years and was excited to go out on a weekend as opposed to a weeknight. 

He could go to the city and buy new clothes—decent clothes instead of thrift store threads. Frank was so excited he could hardly wait.

He drew back from the window and picked Sweet Pea up from her cushion on the floor.

“Bedtime, Baby,” he said, kissing the top of her head as he carried her into his bedroom and set her on the mattress. 

Of course, if he went to the city he would have to leave his baby with Ray for the night. He would take good care of her, but Frank was always afraid she would worry or miss him—thinking he’d abandoned her like her former owners. Ray told him his fears were ridiculous, but Sweet Pea was all Frank really had. He didn’t want to break her trust.

One night couldn’t hurt though… Right?

“You wouldn’t get mad at me if I went out for some new clothes, would you, Baby?” Frank asked, petting Sweet Pea as she walked around the mattress, trying to get comfy. “Would you, Baby?” Frank asked again, as if the little dog could really answer.

She paused and stared at him with her big, buggy eyes, tongue poking out the side of her mouth. She took a deep, wheezy breath, then dropped down onto the mattress with a snort. 

“You don’t care so long as I come home eventually, right?” Frank asked, smiling as he switched off the light and hurried to crawl under the sheets. 

Sweet Pea sighed and very quickly began snoring, the sound lulling Frank to sleep.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard sat on the floor in his Master’s closet, trying in vain to hide from the man who called his name from downstairs. 

He’d been scrubbed and cleaned, both inside and out, his hair had been styled and Master forced him to put on his makeup for the big sale. It was waterproof, but that didn’t stop it from streaking and fading as gerard cried into his knees. 

“Gerard, get down here!”

He pressed back against the wall of the closet even harder, no longer fearing blows to his face or lashings with the belt. Now, he feared that his disobedience was going to get him sold to a dungeon. Or as a prop for a snuff film. 

At first, the prospect of simply being purchased for the sake of being murdered sounded like a blessing. Then Master started talking about how drawn out and horrible the death would be. He started mentioning wanting a copy of the video if that’s what gerard’s fate became…

Gerard was terrified.

He couldn’t do this. 

Gerard cried as he heard the bedroom door open, knowing that in no time at all, he would be found. There was no place to hide.

“Gerard… We don’t have time for this. Get out here.”

He still sat cowering on the floor, too afraid to offer himself up to his Master’s hands. As the closet door creaked open, gerard brought his arms protectively over his head—fearful of having his hair yanked or his face smacked. 

“Come on, gerard. Get up.”

“M-Master, I—”

“Get up. Now.” 

“Master, please—”

His Master sighed heavily and stormed over, grabbing one of the wrists gerard had over his head and using it to pull His pet to its feet 

“Let’s go, gerard. There’s no point trying to hide from me.”

His Master pulled him out of the closet and switched off the light, dragging him through the dark bedroom and down the stairs.

“Get your shoes on,” his Master said, pushing him toward the living room where his shoes were laid out by the couch. 

“C-can I g-get one of my sketchbooks?” Gerard cried as he slipped his shoes on with shaking fingers. It was hard to obey his Master, especially when he knew where it would all lead, but the instinct to listen and do as he was told was so far ingrained in his mind that disobedience was impossible. 

“No! I’ve told you a hundred times. Anything you take with you, your new master is going to burn. Now stop acting like a spoiled brat. Tie your shoes. We need to leave.” 

Gerard sniffed and tied his shoes with shaking hands.

“It’s cold, Master,” he whimpered—desperate for any kindness, any comfort he could get. He knew he couldn’t change his Master’s mind, but he couldn’t help himself. Pleading was the only thing he knew how to do. If he sounded sincere enough—if he cried enough—maybe, just maybe, Master would show mercy. 

Every night… Every night gerard remembered being strapped to that table. He remembered being cold and scared, and being violated. He remembered marcus helping him upstairs and putting him in the bathtub—Master’s bathtub. He watched the bathwater run red…watched marcus cover the red with soap bubbles. Pink soap bubbles. Then Master came upstairs and gerard could see his struggle as he decided whether or not to take out his gun and finish the job. 

Oh how he wished his Master had finished the job. Death was so much better than this.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank had parked up the street a ways, under a lamp near the front of a grocery store that would be closing soon. It was going on eleven, but Frank wasn’t ready for the long drive back to Jersey. He’d gone out to eat and now he wanted a drink. Being nineteen and the size of a Christmas elf didn’t make that easy, however. 

Sure, he could drive home and sip the beers he had in the fridge, but that just took away the vibe—the good feeling that came from being young in the Big Apple. He wanted to live a little. He wanted to explore. Shopping hadn’t been enough for him even though he’d gotten some good deals in the smaller shops. He wanted to do everything he could—experience a little bit of everything. 

His mother hated the idea of him being in the city, and Frank was proud to have made it there now that he’d escaped her crushing hold. She wasn’t there to warn him about how dangerous every bend in the road was. She wasn’t there to scold him for spending two hundred bucks on clothes when he could’ve easily spent two grand. 

Now he wanted to spend his money on drinks—maybe even buy a round for the whole bar just to make a few cheap friends for the night. He just needed to pick the right place. Some place dark. Some place below the radar. 

But not too dark. He didn’t want killed before the sun came up. He wanted to get tipsy and live it up on his last night in the city before returning home, sleeping it off, and going to work the next night cleaning dishes.

After walking six blocks, Frank spotted his target. It was a little bar on the left side of the street—the last building before apartments and shops gave way to industrial property and what looked to be warehouses. There was a parking lot beside it that was full of cars, but the windows were dark to keep the guests safe from prying eyes.

As he crossed the dark street, Frank began to get a sinking feeling as he stepped closer to the building. The sign over the door just said Kaufen’s Haus—a foreign name (though not unusual in New York City)—and all the cars in the lot were shiny. Clean.

Spotless.

Frank was about to turn and go back the way he’d come, neon “Open” light in the blackened window be damned, but then the front door opened and a large man stepped out. 

He didn’t look fitting with fancy cars.

“You here to buy?” The man called, looking Frank over from where he stood in the shadows on the bar’s front stoop. 

Frank was tempted to just start running, but the fear gripped him and he couldn’t move. He was stuck standing in the road near to the sidewalk, staring at the giant bouncer. 

“What else would I be here for?” Frank asked, trying to call on the hardness Jersey had instilled in him. If he went inside and bought some drinks—or drugs—then there would be no reason to shoot him, no reason to beat him half to death and leave him in the streets as a warning to other interlopers. 

“Ain’t seen you around here before,” the man said as Frank forced himself to step closer. 

“That’s ‘cause I’m not from around here,” Frank answered, licking his lips and trying to make his face stern.

“Cover charge’s fifty bucks,” the man said, extending his hand as Frank drew nearer.

“Sounds fair,” Frank said, even though the charge was absurd. Fifty bucks just to enter? But if fifty bucks was what it took to save his life, then he’d pay it. Of course he would.

The man took the fifty dollar bill from Frank’s hand, then stepped back into the Kaufen’s Haus. 

Coffins, Frank thought as he stepped into the dark. The name sounded like coffins. The door opened to a wall, with a door on one side and a narrow hall on the other. There was a light shining on the wall from a bend in the hallway—flickering like candlelight and Frank could hear men talking and raucous laughter.

At least there was some sort of life inside the walls—not some silent, stoic mafia dinner. 

“You ever bought here before?” The man asked, taking in Frank’s confused expression.

“I told you I’m not from around here,” Frank snapped. Right away he regretted his tone. The large man pushed the door shut after Frank had entered, slamming it. 

“Gonna want to watch that attitude, man. The sellers… They don’t like that,” he said, eyeing Frank with great suspicion and dislike. 

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind,” Frank said before a loud, shrill scream echoed down the narrow hall. Frank whipped around to face the direction of the scream. 

“They’ve got a few more hour sales if that’s what you’re here for,” the man said, indifferent to the shrieks of terror that followed. “At thirty-after it switches to possession sales. That what you’re lookin’ for?—You don’t look like the usual sort.”

“What? Because I didn’t come in my Bentley?” Frank asked, throwing out the first luxury car name that came to mind as he faced the man again. “Lot’s full, man. And I’m not parkin’ in the street.”

“I’ll tell you what—you make a purchase, I’ll guard it for you while you get your car.”

“Well thanks,” Frank said, keeping his guard up as the man led him down the hall toward the flickering light and frantic screaming.

Immediately, Frank understood. They weren’t selling booze or dope—they were selling sex. Hookers and slaves. No average man—no man who looked like him anyway—needed to come into a den to buy companionship for the night, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to afford anything more.

When they rounded the corner of the narrow hall, Frank was faced with a cramped space—too many men stuffed into one room with only small bits of space between them. Some were sat at tables, leaning back casually in their chairs while smoking cigars—dressed in suits like mob bosses. A stark contrast to Frank who wore dark wash jeans and an oversized, army green coat. 

The building, which must have previously served as some sort of theatre or music venue had a stage at the front where a man was standing, holding onto the arm of a crying, screaming boy.

A _child._

Men in the crowd were laughing and talking to one another, occasionally one would shout out a number—a bid. 

They were selling him by the hour—for over one hundred dollars an hour. Frank watched from the back of the room, trying to hide his expression of disgust from the bouncer who stood near to him, watching with a grin 

Three men were sold the chance to rape the child that night. One after the other. 

Frank had to force an expression of stoic indifference as the boy was led away and another took the stage in his place.


	8. In Which Humans may as well be Animals

It was madness—shear madness and chaos in the back room of the cramped, stinking auction house. Gerard had been abandoned so many times amongst the other sellers and guards and slaves that he was terrified his Master’s plan wasn’t to sell him at all. Maybe his Master brought him here to abandon him—forget him and leave him for the auctioneers to deal with at the end of the night.

So many people were crammed into that backroom space, tripping over each other, shoving each other, slapping slaves that didn’t belong to them—fights erupting between sellers for damage done to property not yet sold, fights between slaves for looking at each other the wrong way.

One slave was being sodomized in the corner by one of the guards. He made eye contact with gerard when it had started, begging for help, but gerard turned his face away.

There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could do.

Nothing he could do…

There was no hope in this awful place. No help—no safety.

“M-Master?” Gerard whimpered when he caught sight of the man talking to one of the guards. 

Guards were so easy to tell apart from the sellers. The sellers dressed in high fashion, showing off their success and prowess while the guards—all muscular and tall—dressed in street clothes with black sock hats. 

“Master!” Gerard called, trying his best to scream overtop all the other shrieks and wails and voices. It was such an awful place. His heart pounded so hard in his chest yet his Master stood across the room shaking hands with some man without any tension in his shoulders at all. He was comfortable here. He was calm here…

He was making money here while gerard was losing his mind. 

“Master! Please, Master! _Master!_ ” 

“Shut your mouth!”

Gerard’s cry was cut off by a harsh, painful smack to the back of his head than caused him to tip forward, his head banging into a slave’s bare shoulder. The slave pushed back against him and scowled at him darkly with the only eye he had—the other a blackened, puffy mess. 

Master never struck gerard in the face hard enough to cause damage like that. Master hardly struck hard enough to leave bruises anywhere visible and now gerard was wracked with terror that a cruel Master like the one who owned this slave would buy him. Gone would be his pretty looks. Gone would be his gentle smile. 

“Master!” Gerard screamed again, despite the second blow his defiance earned him. It was worth the blows from the guard because Master turned and saw him. 

They held each other’s gaze for several seconds before his Master looked away again and returned to speaking to that other man. 

“Keep your mouth shut or I’m gonna stuff somethin’ in it you ain’t gonna like, you little slut,” the guard who had struck gerard’s head warned. 

“I just want Master,” gerard whimpered, rubbing the back of his head as he turned to face the ominous guard. 

“I just told you to shut your fuckin’ mouth!” The guard boomed.

Gerard shrank back in fear, but didn’t have far to go. He pressed against the back of another slave who braced himself to keep from getting pushed into the slave in front of him. Gerard couldn’t even stammer an apology before the guard’s hands were on him—turning him around and pushing his face into the other slave’s shoulder blades. He could hear that slave whining deep in his throat as gerard was repeatedly pushed against him as the guard worked his hand down the back of gerard’s jeans. 

Gerard let out a shrill cry before his voice cracked and all he could do was wheeze and whimper as the guard dug his fingers into his flesh—gripping his upper thigh with enough force to cause pain but not enough to leave a mark. 

The goal was to intimidate—terrify—and it was working. It was a warning. It was the guard’s way of saying “if you don’t listen, I’ll take you to the corner like the whore over there getting fucked.” Slaves with blue bands on their wrists were allowed to be fucked by the guards before the sale. Slaves with blue bands were being sold by the hour and it didn’t matter how many men had them before the auction started because more would have them at the end. Guests paid for cleanliness—for looks—for quick fucks with no cops involved, not purity. 

Gerard didn’t have a blue wristband. His was orange. He was for sale and no one would hurt him or else they would have to pay his Master…

Except that didn’t seem to be stopping the guard whose fingers had slipped between gerard’s cheeks and were pressing against his hole. 

“You gonna be a good little slut?” The guard wheezed, rubbing his fingers over gerard’s opening a little more harshly. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t _allowed!_ But he was anyway. He was trying hard to bend his wrist inside the confines of gerard’s tight jeans to get a finger inside despite gerard’s squirming. “Come on—don’t you want prepped before the big show? Don’t want your new boss to push into you dry and tight, do you?” The man was laughing and it summoned tears to gerard’s eyes. 

The fear he could cope with, the pain he could bear, but the humiliation and helplessness ate away at him. What if the guard took him? What if he used him anyway, despite the orange band on gerard’s wrist? 

He hoped that if the man did violate him, then Master would just shoot him and not even bother with the sale. He prayed his Master would see reason and show mercy and just put a bullet through his wasted whore’s head…

The guard managed to force the tip of one of his fingers inside and gerard let out a rough screech—trying to attract attention but unable to catch the eye of anyone who cared or could help. The slave he was gripping onto in order to keep his balance was crying now, disturbed and distraught over what was happening against his back in this terrible place.

“Master!” Gerard screamed again, voice broken and wheezy—all the healing it had done reversed in a matter of seconds. “Please! Help, Master! _Master!_ ”

“Shut your mouth!” The guard snapped, pulling his finger out, removing his hand from gerard’s jeans, and slapping him hard on the thigh to silence him. 

“Master!” The other slave began screaming, pulling away from gerard causing him to fall forward onto the ground. “Master! Get them away from me! Please, Sir! Please, Sir, just get them away from me! I don’t want to be here! I don’t want to be here, Sir, please! Master, please!”

His cries got the others to start as well—all screaming for help from the very men who put them there, having no one else to plead to. They knew nothing of God. For them, Master was God. He was the only one who could answer prayers. 

Gerard moaned as he tried to pick himself up from the floor, struggling to get to his feet before he could be stepped on or trampled by other anxious slaves. 

“Come here,” the guard hissed, hooking his hands under gerard’s arms and pulling him up before taking the chance to stuff two of his fingers into his captive’s mouth—one of which had been deliberately forced into gerard’s body only moments before. 

Gerard couldn’t even react to bite down—his eyes went wide with shock and disgust as the digits pressed down against his tongue and lower row of teeth. Nausea struck him and he started to gag, but the guard just kept laughing and rubbed the tips of his fingers across gerard’s tongue a moment longer before yanking them free and shoving gerard forward against the other slave one final time.

“Now what did I tell ya? Keep your mouth shut or it’ll happen again and it’ll be a hell of a lot worse. You hear me?” The guard stared gerard in the eye, showing no empathy or compassion—not even when gerard began spitting on the floor to get the taste out of his mouth. “I asked if you fuckin’ heard me!” The guard boomed when gerard still did not answer. 

“I-I w-want my M-Master,” gerard stammered, tears flooding him and washing away more of his makeup. 

“For fuck’s sake—you all act like children. Even the ten-year-olds don’t cry as much as you.” The guard pushed him one last time before walking away to torment something else.

His tears went uncomforted as he watched his Master talk to that other man for many minutes before finally, finally, his Master started walking toward him. 

Gerard’s spirits lifted slightly as the man drew nearer. Maybe He would have changed His mind about this whole thing. Maybe He would come over and say “I hope you learned your lesson” and drive them both home.

“What are you crying for? You’re ruining your eyeliner.” His Master wiped at the tear track on gerard’s cheeks and clicked his tongue.

“Th-the gu-guard, Master. H-He hurt me,” gerard whimpered, hoping that if anything his Master would shoot his attacker the way he had with the Bad Man. 

“I told you on the ride over not to attract their attention. What did you do?” He asked, smoothing and adjusting gerard’s clothes as if he were preparing a mannequin in a store window.

“I-I was calling f-for you,” gerard stammered. “I wanted my M-Master.”

“I’m here, gerard. You don’t need to scream for me and piss off the hosts.”

“B-But it’s scary here, M-Master. I don’t want to be alone,” gerard cried, daring to latch onto his Master, winding his hands behind His back. “Please, Master. Please, just stay with me. I-I’m scared.”

It surprised him when his Master started rubbing his back gently.

“Be good, babe. You go on soon—”

“No!” Gerard cried, squeezing his Master as tight as he could. There had to be a way out of this—had to be. Had to be!

“Yes. This is what happens, gerard. We go on stage, I’ll introduce you—”

“Don’t, Master—”

“Shut up. I’m giving you orders. You listen to me or I’ll call the guards back over.”

Gerard sobbed and pressed his head into his Master’s shoulder, giving in. There was nothing he could do but obey.

Go on stage. Stand before the men. Have his clothing lowered or removed to show the buyers what was theirs for the taking. Be sold. Never see his Master or marcus or anything familiar again.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank felt sick to his stomach, the collar of his shirt feeling too tight and no matter how much he dug at it the nauseating tightness never went away. He was made to watch person after person being sold by the hour before the “possession sales” began. Those were enough to make Frank feel lightheaded, too. The first slaves sold were children. Eight year olds. Ten year olds… Then teenagers. Thousands and thousands of dollars traded hands. The first child sold went for over one hundred and fifty thousand. 

When Frank failed to make a purchase, the bouncer came back around the corner and started watching him. Hundreds of thousands of dollars…and Frank only had about five thousand left. At first he’d thought himself an idiot for getting too excited and bringing all of his winnings with him to the city, knowing he’d probably get jumped and lose it all to a thug, but now he was thankful—thankful he carried it in cash and thankful he didn’t spend all of his money at the stores. 

But five grand wasn’t going to buy him anything, it seemed. Not in this place.

“Not likin’ anything?” the bouncer asked as he came up to lean against the wall beside Frank. “You look nervous. Everything a’ight?” Somehow his question wasn’t laced with much concern for Frank’s wellbeing at all.

“I don’t have that much,” Frank said after clearing his throat, nodding his head toward the stage where yet another eighteen year old virgin was being stripped naked while the men in the crowd cheered.

“There ain’t many more of them left. I think there’s three or four more, then the trash gets taken out.”

“The what?” Frank asked, daring to sound agitated.

“The trash. I take it that’s what you’re waitin’ for. Makes sense. I didn’t think you looked much like an owner. I take it you’re lookin’ for a prop.”

“A prop?” Frank asked, not following at all. On one hand he knew the man was talking about cheaper slaves, but why they were props he didn’t understand. 

“Oh, I’m sorry—an ‘acteur’ for you sophisticated filmmakers. Gonna buy one for your videos. My only question is—is it a porno, or is it a snuff film? ‘Cause we don’t sell to snuff directors. Makes the sellers uncomfortable.”

“Just porn,” Frank said, swallowing hard and looking back toward the stage. He flinched when the next slave was dragged out kicking and screaming and thrown to his knees on the floor. His master kicked him, then pulled him up by his hair.

A disobedient slave, he said. Yours for the breaking if that’s your thing. 

Starting bid: Ten grand.

“What kind of porn? Dungeon scene? I’d _kill_ to be the lead in one of those. Got to film one once but it just ain’t the same.”

“It’s more of an…outdoors kind of thing. Lost in the woods, crazed locals. Like _Deliverance._ ”

“Mm. You keep ‘em alive after?”

“Of course I keep them alive!” Frank said, not falling for the trick—even if he were here to buy a human to murder on film, he wouldn’t fall for such an obvious ploy. “People got sick of my old one—I want a new face. Something…cheap. Something pretty,” Frank mumbled. 

He felt a little more secure now—now that the bouncer had fed him a story that he could play along with. 

“I think this slut’s the last of the high class ones. Your type is on next. They got some pretty ones, but I can’t guarantee they’re clean.”

Frank hummed and watched the stage. It would be a lie to say it didn’t fill him with relief when the next victim dragged onto the stage had a starting bid of five thousand. They would only get cheaper from here—maybe even into the one thousands or twenty-five hundreds. He had no idea what he would do if he did buy something — some _one_ — but he knew if he didn’t, odds were he wouldn’t make it out alive. 

He would look like an interloper. Like something that needed taken care of out back by the dumpsters—or sold into this hell. 

The slave on stage was sold for seven grand, then replaced with another who went for nine thousand—but only because two bidders wanted him desperately and kept raising the price. The seller had started to look smug and proud as the price climbed higher and higher, and even kissed his slave on the temple as a reward for earning him twice what he had expected. 

Frank sighed and glanced from the bouncer at his side down to the floor. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. From the backroom he could still hear other voices crying and screaming, even over the laughter of the buyers in the front. This was a cruel place—an evil place. He knew that vile crimes happened, that people were raped and murdered and tortured, but he’d never imagined a place like this existed. A place where madmen came together dressed in suits and fed on screaming, weeping slaves they plucked from God knows where. 

A loud, shrill scream cut through the air yet again as another seller pulled his slave onto the stage by his wrist. Frank watched with a seemingly permanent frown etched on his face as the black-haired slave was put before him on the stage.

Being pulled only by the wrist as opposed to his hair or being carried wasn’t the only thing which set this slave apart from the others. His master also had him dressed well—tight black pants and layers on top, a white collar poking up over the neck of a black sweater—though that did nothing to make him look appealing. His face was streaked in running makeup. It looked as if both his eyes had been blackened, and as be pleaded with his owner for mercy and forgiveness, all that came out was an unappealing, crackling wheeze. 

The men started hollering and cheering, laughing at the frightened slave’s expense.

“Here’s a nice one for you,” the seller called. Something about his voice or his demeanor must’ve commanded respect because the men in the room settled down at once. “Haven’t seen me in a while, I know, but I wanted to offer you one of the best from my _private_ collection.”

“Master, please! Please, don’t do this!” The slave screamed, latching onto his owner and earning nothing but a forceful shove in return. 

“Quiet! Now!” The owner barked, causing the men in the crowd to clap and cheer as the slave covered its face and sobbed. “As you can see, his throat is wrecked. Had a visitor use him a little roughly and now…now he’s just not as appealing to me as he once was.”

Frank sighed in disgust at the words. Someone hurt the slave, so now his owner didn’t want him anymore—someone the owner invited as a guest. How sick could he be? He spoke the words as if they meant nothing at all, as if the slave’s ruined throat and voice were just a scratch on an oak wood table, damage to something unfeeling. 

He acted with the same lack of empathy as he lowered the poor creature’s pants and exposed him to that room full of people. The black-haired slave let out a low wail and turned his face away, burying it in his own shoulder as he sought to hide himself in shame. His owner offered him no comfort, just listed off attributes and quirks about his pet—loyal, dedicated, obedient, five and a half inches, scratches, _bites._

The men in the crowd started booing when they heard that the nameless pet had the nerve to defend himself against sexual acts he didn’t want to perform, and their jeers only grew louder when they heard he was free of addictions. No cocaine to keep him fixated and pliant, no heroin—not even weed. His commitment to his masters could only be bought through time and affection, something these buyers weren’t willing to offer. 

“Let’s start the bidding at twenty-five hundred. Any takers.”

The floor was quiet except for a few coughs and one man’s disgruntled cry of “filth.” Even that word was enough to make the slave double over with tears. 

“M-Master, take me home. Please, Master. P-Please take me home. I-I—I’ll do anything. I—”

“Hush!” The man screamed, his harshness enough to bring the slave to his knees, one hand balancing his weight while the other covered his eyes. 

Frank couldn’t take it anymore. His heart felt like it was breaking and he couldn’t stand to see anyone so upset. This slave, this nameless human, wasn’t like the others. They pleaded and screamed and fought—but he just kneeled there and cried, begging his master for forgiveness and the chance to make it up to him. 

“Twenty-five hundred!” Frank called. 

“Twenty-five hundred?” The man on stage repeated, scanning the crowd with his eyes, searching for his bidder. 

“Three thousand!” Someone else shouted.

Frank whipped his head in the direction of the other voice, but couldn’t spot the man until the bouncer at his side helped point him out. It was some large man seated at one of the tables, smoking a cigar and smirking at the slave on stage.

“Thirty-five hundred,” Frank called, looking back at the seller as the bouncer at his side waved to catch the man’s attention. The seller nodded, then looked back to the other bidder seated at the table.

“Three seventy-five,” the man said, his tone indifferent, even as the slave he was bidding on began crying so hard he began choking. 

“Forty-five hundred,” Frank shouted, licking his lips anxiously. Even if he didn’t win, he could leave now that he’d entered the game. He could storm out in a rage if he didn’t get the prize he wanted and no one would follow him to gun him down.

But he didn’t want to leave empty handed. He wanted the slave—he wanted to get it out of there, out of this awful place. What he’d do after that, he had no idea, but he wanted it. 

Without giving it much thought, Frank started walking toward the stage, trying to get a closer look at the merchandise he was trying to possess. He had less money than the man at the table, he knew that he did, but he hoped that the man would get bored and move to a different pet. He didn’t show any interest until Frank began bidding. To that man, this was probably a game.

To him, the slave would be disposable. He was cheap, made to be used up and thrown out like trash, the bouncer had said. 

“Forty-five hundred, can I get four seventy-five?” the seller shouted, stroking his slave’s hair as the created collapsed further onto the floor, covering his head with his arms as he tried to block out the awful place. 

“Four seventy-five,” the man at the table called.

“Five thousand!” Frank screamed as he reached the very edge of the stage. He could hear the slave struggling to breathe—could hear it whispering to itself, trying hard to block out the horrors.

“I-I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine—Master? M-Master? P-please, Master… Anything, Master. It’ll be okay. It’ll—It’ll be okay. Right? Master? Right, Master?” It whimpered and pleaded on and on as Frank’s heart pounded in his ears. 

“Fifty-five hundred,” the man at the table said, chuckling deep in his throat. 

Frank felt his spirits sink and he faltered back a step from the stage, his hopes dashed. He thought for sure five thousand would be all the man would be willing to pay. Why pay an extra five hundred for something he was just going to throw away? He was going to take this creature home and hurt it—torture it—and kill it. He sneered as Frank hesitated to call out a higher bid.

He was cruel and indifferent. Frank could just imagine the horror this slave would see in the hours to come… The tears he shed now would just be met with more. He could be bloodied… He could be murdered.

“Fuck this,” Frank hissed under his breath, backing up as he offered the slave the final sympathetic glance he’d probably get in his miserable life. 

“Nah, he’s not worth fifty-five, Monty. Trust me,” the seller said all of a sudden, causing Frank to stop his retreat. He looked from the grinning seller to the man seated at the table—Monty, the seller had called him by name. He didn’t look that disappointed at all to lose the sale and merely shrugged and took another puff from his cigar. “Sold—five thousand.”

Frank stared in shock, his heart beating harder than before as he lowered his gaze to the slave who started screaming as if he’d been shot as soon as his master declared him sold. 

His. That misery was all his.


	9. In Which Fear Leads to Comfort

Frank almost gagged at the stench of sweat and filth that filled the backroom where he was led after making his purchase. There were people scattered everywhere in the open space, half of them laughing and the other half crying. There were buyers raping slaves in the corners, slaves curled in balls on the floor shaking—some holding each other in search of comfort—and bouncers walking around to intimidate them all.

“It’s mostly been cleared out by now,” the bouncer said, showing no empathy at all when he pushed a crying slave out of his and Frank’s way. The poor creature hit the floor and started screaming and though Frank wanted to stop to help him up, he knew that one wrong move back here could end with a bullet through his head. He wasn’t safe until the money traded hands. He wasn’t safe until the black-haired slave was with him. “You bought from Les, right?”

“Les?” Frank said, the name not registering with him at all. He couldn’t remember any of the sellers introducing themselves, and only a few had bothered to give names to their merchandise. 

“You’re not from around here then,” the bouncer responded shaking his head. He was different man from the one who had let Frank into the establishment, and seemed disinterested in Frank as opposed to suspicious. “Everybody knows Les.”

“He’s definitely…different,” Frank said, trying to make conversation in order to distract from the horrors going on around him. There were puddles of blood and spatters of it on the walls, only small indicators of the awful things that had happed to the slaves that had already been sold off and taken away. 

“I was surprised he sold to you instead of Monty. Makes sense though,” the bouncer said, pointing when Les and his black-haired slave came into view.

“Not to me,” Frank muttered.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t know Les. This one’s from his _private collection._ Means he’s owned him a while and he likes him. Now _Monty,_ he runs a dungeon. Any slave he buys, he kills within a year.”

“The guy earlier said you couldn’t buy for dungeons here,” Frank said, his anxiety mounting as he drew nearer and nearer to the two figures cowering by the back door.

 _“You_ can’t, but Monty can do whatever he wants. You know how much money that guy makes in a day? Enough to buy everything you saw here and then some. What you usin’ this one for?”

“Videos,” Frank said, passing a sideways glance to the bouncer—making sure the man wasn’t about to pull a gun. He had this deep seated fear that they saw through him, that this was all a ploy to isolate him and kill him in a place where no one who saw would care. 

“Ah… Les won’t like that.”

“Why the fuck should he care?” Frank said, swallowing hard. They must’ve come too close to the seller and slave because the bouncer didn’t answer him, merely shook hands with Les once he reached his side. 

“You put on quite a show, Les,” the bouncer said. “Got your buyer for you.”

The man looked Frank over, his face cold. Unlike himself, unlike the other men buying slaves in this place, Frank was dressed in casual clothes—his camouflage jacket making him feel smaller, meeker. 

“Where’s my money? You owe me five grand.”

“It’s here,” Frank said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet. He was so grateful at his own stupidity in this moment. What fool would take so much cash with him anywhere? Just for the chance to feel sophisticated, to feel like a big shot in the city, Frank had been that foolish. Had he been robbed, he would’ve hated himself—but now, that childishness was saving his life.

And not just _his_ life…

Leaning again Les was the black-haired slave, tears rushing down his face—streaking his makeup—his lips parted as he sobbed softly. He was glaring at Frank. His eyes were so dark and hateful. He hated Frank for taking him away from his owner. 

Frank let his gaze linger a moment longer before opening his wallet and pulling out his neatly folded bills. He put the metal clip back into his wallet and then started counting out the hundreds and fifties. At the end, he only had forty dollars left in his wallet and it surprised him when the man didn’t demand that cash as well. 

Forty dollars, plus another hundred in his bank account, was all Frank had to his name now.

Once the money traded hands, Les’ demeanor shifted and he actually cracked a smile. His slave, however, started crying that much harder and began holding onto the man desperately.

“P-Please, Master! Please! D-Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this!” It cried, nuzzling into Les’ neck and kissing his jawline over and over in search of sympathy—affection. His voice was so raw and rough, it sounded painful. Like it hurt him to plead and yet his still kept trying.

Les looked at Frank and rolled his eyes, still smiling as he pushed the slave back a step. It didn’t work to keep space between them. Once he dropped his hand, the black-haired slave latched onto him again.

“He’s not trained the best,” Les said, patting the slave’s back. “He gets jealous easily. You don’t have any others do you?—Slaves, whores, whatever.”

“No,” Frank said, feeling sorrier for the creature by the second.

“See? Doesn’t that sound good, Babe? No one for you to push around.”

“No!” The still nameless slave cried, screaming a little when Les pried him off his chest again.

“Stop yelling,” his master commanded—his former master.

“Please—I won’t hurt Joshua. I won’t. Please let me come home. Please, Master. _P-please—!”_ His words turned to a shrill scream when Les smacked him across the mouth.

Frank couldn’t help the look of horror on his face, not used to seeing such brutality up close. His parents fought when he was a kid, but they didn’t hit each other. He feared then that the look would give him away, that the seller would be able to tell that Frank didn’t belong here—that he wasn’t cruel enough to be a master of anyone.

“Sorry. I know he’s not my property anymore but he just pisses me off,” Les said, starting to look a small bit ashamed as he pushed the slave away by its shoulder—pushing it toward Frank. “Go on. Go to him or you get another.”

“Master—”

“Go!” The man boomed, his expression becoming so fierce that even Frank backed off a step. The slave listened then and hurried to Frank’s side—then quickly moved to stand behind him when Frank tried to touch his arm, tried to offer comfort. 

“Is there anything else I should know?” Frank asked, hoping to get the slave’s name.

“Yeah—where’s Allen with the paperwork?” Les asked, looking to the bouncer who had his eyes on the slave, making sure it didn’t try to run. 

“He’s coming. I should tell you, though, Les—this guy’s planning to use him for porn,” the bouncer said, gesturing to Frank as he spoke. Frank couldn’t see how it was any of the bouncer’s business or the former owner’s business what he said he was going to “use” the slave for. No one here seemed at all concerned for the lesser beings’ welfare.

Even so, the seller’s eye twitched and he looked Frank over again—sizing him up, it seemed.

“What kind of porn?” He asked, his voice harsh—speaking to Frank as if he were one of his slaves.

Frank couldn’t allow it, even if he did fear this man. The sellers and the bouncers, they carried themselves with an air of superiority. No one spoke down to them. They bought human beings to torture and victimize. They were strong, they were to be feared. To appear like one of them, Frank had to command respect.

“What’s your problem, man?” Frank snapped, glaring as fiercely as he could.

“I asked you a question,” the man said, stepping closer. Frank held his ground, but the slave behind him stumbled backwards, attracting the attention from the bouncer who smacked him and pushed him up against Frank’s back—warning him against “trying to make a run for it” again.

“What the fuck do you care?” Frank asked, his breathing coming a little heavier and shakier. 

“I don’t want to sell my pet to someone who’s just going to waste him.”

“Waste him!? I’m making him a star! Look at his face—he’s fucking gorgeous. The guys are going to love him!”

“How many guys are we talking about? He’s from my _private_ collection! I don’t sell my pets to midget creeps who share them with half a dozen strangers every night.”

“Half a dozen—Back off! I’m buying him for myself! I’m the only one sleeping with him. My friends work the camera, but I pick the scenes and I pick my partner. And I want my partner—” Again, the slave was shoved into his back by the guard, nearly knocking him over. “—to be him. Would you quit!?” Frank snapped, turning around and scowling at the guard who was still berating the slave until it dropped to the floor in hysterics, clutching onto Frank’s pant leg. “God damnit! I want to be able to get him to my studio without drugging him, would you knock it off? He’s down, alright!?”

“Leave him be, Chuck,” Les said to the bouncer who threw his hands up in irritation and made to walk off—as if he had a reason to be upset at being called off the attack.

“Jesus Christ,” Frank hissed, scowling at Les before looking down at the floor. The slave had stopped holding his pant leg seemingly as soon as he’d noticed himself doing it and covered his face instead. “Just ask me a question if you want to know something. I deserve some respect here too,” Frank said, looking back up at the seller.

“Fine. I just know my pet and he can’t handle too much stimulation.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He faints,” Les said. “You scare him, he faints. You hurt him too much, he blacks out. That’s why I won’t sell him to dungeons. He’d last ten minutes before he fainted and they’d waste him.”

“I don’t make violent porn,” Frank said. “You don’t have to worry. He’ll be taken care of.”

“Good. That’s very good, because my Babe…he’s not the worst I’ve owned. He deserves a nice place to stay, even if he doesn’t know how to control himself.” Les turned his gaze down to the floor where his former piece of property sat crying and rocking back and forth. 

“Why are you selling him?” Frank asked, looking over his shoulder. Someone was supposed to be coming with paperwork, but Frank didn’t know what that would even entail—or if that was code for something else. He didn’t see anyone coming his way—just another slave being dragged toward the stage to be auctioned off.

“He’s gotten an attitude since I brought my new whore home. That and the man I left him with ruined him.”

“Ruined?” Frank asked. Les had begun looking remorseful—his emotions changing so rapidly that Frank couldn’t keep up with them or even begin to understand. 

“Well, not _ruined,_ but ruined for me. I don’t share my pets. It makes me _uncomfortable_ if someone else uses them. The friend I had watching my pets took a certain interest in him. Kept him locked in the basement for a week and gagged him—that’s why his voice and jaw are fucked up. Anyway, long story short, someone else used my property and I don’t like to share. I’ve let a few prospective buyers have him, but nothing serious. I made them use condoms,” he added quickly. “He’s clean—the paperwork will prove it.”

“Good,” Frank said, looking down at the slave who continued to rock back and forth, whispering to himself. “Anything else I need to know? He’s obviously traumatized as it is—it’d be nice to know what to avoid so I don’t set him off.”

“Don’t put anything in his mouth for starters—there’s Allen.”

A man came to their side with a large manila envelope in his hands. He handed it to Frank, then shook hands with Les.

“Sorry for making you wait. Someone tried to sell something that wasn’t registered. It’s chaos upstairs right now,” the man said before turning to Frank. “Everything’s in there—fake IDs, social security card, anything you’ll need.”

The man hurried off before Frank could say anything to him, leaving him with the file.

“It’s got his report in it, too. His trainer was one of the best in the market so he does know how to behave even if he doesn’t act like it now. He knows not to go outside, not to answer phones—all the basics. I wouldn’t worry about him sneaking off if you’re good to him. He’s really very loyal. He’s a good pet…just possessive.” Les moved from his spot, causing Frank to think he was walking away—finally allowing him his escape from the building—but instead he stopped behind Frank’s back and yanked the slave back onto his feet. 

He wiped the dirt and dust off of the black-haired slave’s knees and thighs, using the caring gesture as an excuse to deliver one last, painful blow to its ass. The slave squeaked and fell against Frank, almost toppling him over.

“The door leads to the parking lot,” Les said, gesturing to the door adjacent to Frank. 

“M-Master—”

“You shut your mouth, now,” the man said, scowling at the slave.

“I-I love you. Please, Master.” The slave tried to reach for Les, but Frank could tell right away that if he made contact, the other man planned to strike him. Quickly, Frank grabbed the slave’s hand and pulled him back a step, not willing to see him get struck again.

“Come on. Let’s go home now,” Frank said, trying to use a gentle tone—like the one he used to coax Sweet Pea into staying in the sink at bath time. 

“Take care, Babe,” Les said, waving goodbye as he walked back through the room. 

“Love you,” the slave whimpered. “Come back… Master, come back.” He sniffled and hung his head once his beloved master was out of sight, the gentle touches Frank offered him giving no comfort or peace of mind at all. 

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” Frank said, holding the manila envelope under his arm as he opened the back door. As soon as he had it cracked open, an alarm chirped and every bouncer in the room turned to look his way. One nodded to him and started coming over.

“I’ll lock the door once you’re gone,” he said. “Drive safe,” he added, as if Frank were a friend leaving his apartment. 

It made sense, though. He was a member of their club now—a buyer. A participant in their crimes.

( ) ( ) ( )

The air was so much cooler outside, and the atmosphere so dark that gerard couldn’t help but tremble. His throat hurt and his neck hurt and his legs hurt from standing and being dragged around. The man who had bought him seemed gentle, but gerard knew that never lasted long.

He missed his real Master already, but knew that crying was only going to get under his new Master’s skin the way it had the guards. He didn’t want violated that way again—he didn’t want his new Master’s fingers to invade him out here on the streets where he was exposed and _cold._ So cold. 

He kept his head down as he followed his Master, one hand still trapped in the short man’s grasp. The car he was forced into was small with rust—not at all like his true Master’s pristine sports car. 

Gerard sat in the backseat and cried, laying himself down as his new Master started the engine and began to drive. He knew within a matter of seconds, his carsickness would return the way it had when Master had taken him to the auction house. Only his stomach was too empty to give him any relief and all he could do was gag as his new Master drove rapidly through the winding city streets.

“Hey? Are you alright? Are you sick?” The man asked, peering into the backseat at gerard who could only stare at him and weep. 

Fear had long since robbed him of speech—the knowledge that soon he would be in a new man’s home subjected to new tortures and unfamiliar toys kept him a sniveling, shaking mess. He’d said he made videos—that gerard was to be his new prop. What if they were cruel films? He promised Master that they wouldn’t be, but gerard didn’t believe that. He could be made to endure awful tortures, multiple partners—all at one time! 

“Okay… I’m—I’m going to take you to a hospital, okay? Th-they’re going to help.”

A hospital? What would happen there? The doctor’s visit to Master’s house were always so stressful, fingers being forced inside him, painful ointments being applied… He couldn’t imagine what horror would ensue in a place full of the monsters. 

Was this Master mad? That was another thought plaguing gerard’s mind. Did he really believe he could just walk into a hospital with a whore and have no questions asked? 

Or did he own the hospital? What if the pathetic car and sad clothing were a disguise so no one in the auction house would recognize him?

A doctor would know all kinds of cruel tortures and how far he could go without killing his toy. 

Gerard’s heart was pounding by the time he mustered the courage to peer out the window of the car—his eyes widening as they landed on the sign for an emergency room sign. 

“N-No, please! I-I can’t, Master! W-We can’t do this,” gerard cried, his voice cracked and shaking. 

“It’s okay. I’m going to get you help,” the man said, parking the car and turning around in his seat to look at gerard. “I promise, no one’s going to hurt you. I’m not like those guys. You’re safe.”

Safe? This man had no idea what that word meant—or anything that it entailed. What he considered safe, gerard saw to be terror, risk, _danger._

Even so, no matter how hard he was shaking or how much he resisted, gerard moved at his new Master’s command—allowing himself to be led into the sterile, white building. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank’s plan had been to take him inside and ask for the police to come—to offer his testimony and clear his name in case law enforcement got involved. What if an undercover officer had been there? He couldn’t let himself go to jail for saving an unfortunate soul.

But once he stepped into the hospital, he realized his danger wasn’t the cops. It was the men. What if they followed him? What if they were watching him or got his license information? If he turned their property over to the police and got their ring broken up, they’d come looking for him. They could very easily find him…

After picking up the form at the registration counter, Frank led the shaking slave to one of the plastic seats. The man kept trembling and sniffling, sometimes mumbling to himself but never loud enough for Frank to hear or comprehend what he’d said. 

Frank had taken one of the IDs and the social security card from manila envelope, glancing only briefly at the black book and stack of papers inside. He used the cards to fill out the information on the forms when the slave wouldn’t speak up to answer his questions. He couldn’t even get him to confirm whether or not his name really was Rodger Casey. 

The whole time he sat their waiting for the slave’s name to be called, Frank’s mind wandered to all the awful possibilities. What if the ER called the cops? What if the police arrested Frank and refused to believe his testimony that he wanted nothing to do with the slave-trading ring? 

It was obvious that the slave wasn’t going to speak on his behalf. He couldn’t even stop crying long enough to take a full breath. It got even worse when he was called back into the exam room. He wouldn’t even respond to the nurse who went from smiling to stern immediately, showing she had no patience at all for the man. 

“What seems to be the problem, besides the crying?” She asked, looking to Frank.

“H-He… He just…” Frank couldn’t even come up with a story now, not that he’d changed his plan. Why had he come here? The slave wasn’t going to let himself be helped. “He’s got something wrong with his throat. I-I didn’t know if it was serious or not.”

“Okay. We’ll take a look. Sir? Could you open your mouth for me? Let me look?” 

The man looked to Frank first, then slowly opened his mouth for the nurse who took a swab and then started moving and manipulating his jaw. The motions caused the slave to let out a loud squeak of pain and recoil from her, a childish motion that caused the nurse to scold him before she left with the swab to get it tested. 

As soon as she left, the slave laid back on the examination bed and sobbed, wrapping his arms around himself and weeping.

Frank couldn’t handle it—the sobs were heartbreaking no matter how long he’d been forced to listen to them. Every now and then he could calm himself down, but the slightest thing would set him off again.

Frank had handed him a tissue from the little counter by the sink which the slave used to blow his nose, but it became apparent that one tissue wouldn’t do the trick—the whole box wouldn’t be enough.

After a while, Frank grew tired of sitting in the chair, watching helplessly. He took a paper towel from over the sink and wetted it with water from the faucet and a drop of soap before steeping over to the bed where the slave lay, trembling in fear. 

“Hey… It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I’m just going to wash up your face, okay? It can’t feel very good having that makeup all over you.” Frank reached for him carefully, not surprised at all when the man flinched away from him and turned his head. He refused to be deterred however. He wanted to offer comfort and this was the least he could do to prove he wasn’t here to cause harm. 

Slowly, he reached down and touched the wet towel to his cheek and started to dab it gently against his skin. The slave whined the entire time, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth closed tight as well as though he feared Frank would try to force the cloth into his mouth. 

“There we go,” Frank whispered as the black smudges began to disappear. “That has to feel a little better, right?”

His only reply was a soft sob and a fresh stream of tears cascading down the man’s pale, smooth cheek. With the tears came more black makeup—eyeliner and mascara—that stained every inch of the paper towel. 

Frank threw the soiled towel away and made a fresh one with water and a little more soap. The slave opened his eyes a little as Frank wiped at his other cheek, calming down when he finally accepted that no pain was coming from the touch. 

“There,” Frank said, smiling down at the man once he had his face as clean as he could get it. He even dared to wipe under the man’s nose the way a mother might for her toddler if it had a cold. 

The slave gave him a quizzical look after that, studying Frank’s face with wonder. 

After about thirty minutes the nurse returned, but instead of tending to the slave, she motioned for Frank to step out of the room with her.

“Is everything okay?” Frank asked.

“Sir, where did you meet this man?” The woman asked, looking more than just a bit irritated. 

“Does that matter?” Frank asked. “He’s obviously in distress. I brought him here so you could help.”

“We checked his throat cultures. There’s no sign of infection, just irritation. He won’t say what’s bothering him and you don’t know either—honestly, there’s nothing we can do for him except keep running tests that he has no insurance to cover.”

That’s what it all came down to—money. The slave couldn’t pay, so why fix him? 

“Now, sir, I appreciate your concern, but I’m almost certain you don’t even know who this man is. My advice to you is take him back where you found him. He’s well-fed, he’s got good clothes—I doubt he’ a homeless person. More likely than not, he just hit the bottle a little too hard tonight and lost his way.”

“He’s not drunk—can’t you run a blood test or something?”

“And check for what? We have a lot of sick people to attend to and he’s not critical. Yes, it’s sad that’s so upset, but if he can’t even say what’s wrong, there’s nothing we can do.”

Frank sighed and looked back into the room at the slave, now curled up on his side in the bed. He wanted to confess the truth—get him the help he needed—but Frank was afraid of what might go wrong. If the police wanted, they could arrest him. If he went to jail, he would lose his job, his apartment, even _Sweet Pea._ He couldn’t risk that. 

Not yet. Not until he knew that the slave would side with him and he wouldn’t look like a dealer trying to dispose of a bad product without getting caught and tried for murder. 

“Fine,” Frank said, shaking his head and pushing back into the examination room. The slave lifted its head when Frank returned, looking somehow even more frightened and traumatized than he had before. This visit hadn’t helped him any, it just scared him worse—made him feel even less secure. He’d stopped crying though, and that was a plus. “Come on. We’re going to go back to my place. They say you’re going to be alright.”

The slave tilted his head, looking behind Frank at the nurse. He looked away from her quickly and nodded his head before slowly standing from the bed, his legs still shaking. 

“Come on,” Frank said, holding out his hand for the other man to take. It surprised him when he did—grabbing onto Frank’s wrist as they made their way toward the door. He kept his composure until they stepped outside, at which point a cold gust of wind tore through the parking lot. Even Frank who wore his thick jacket shuddered, but the slave—dressed only in a t-shirt—stopped walking and yanked his hand away from Frank’s in order to wrap his arms around his chest in a feeble attempt to block out the cold. 

Frank looked back at him a moment and shook his head, stripping off his jacket and draping it over the man’s shoulders without a second thought. The man flinched, almost dropping to the ground in fear of the sudden touch, but once the warmth set in he clutched onto the coat as tightly as he could. 

He used it as a blanket when he crawled into the backseat again, lifting the hood to cover his head—hiding.


	10. Where New Acquaintances are Brought Home

Gerard lay shaking in the backseat of the car, the sweater his new Master had given him barely blocking out the chill. He couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop his heart from pounding as waited for his Master to come back to the car. He didn’t know where they’d stopped or why, but when the other man asked gerard if he wanted to come inside, gerard had kept his silence. He didn’t want to go anywhere but home—home with Master, home where things were safe and familiar. 

But this stranger wasn’t going to take him home—he was going to take him to “his place.” Gerard was terrified of what he would encounter there. They said he made movies—that gerard was going to be his prop, his sex doll. 

Gerard didn’t like that idea. He didn’t like when his Trainer had photographed him or when Master had taken pictures of him. As far back as he could remember, he’d never been videotaped and he didn’t want that to change. He was self-conscious as all slaves were mean to be, and he was mortified by the hideousness the camera would reveal. What could this new man want with him? Didn’t he see that gerard was nothing but ugly?—filthy? _Loathsome?_ His own Master wanted nothing to do with him, not even merciful enough to kill him.

After an unmeasured amount of time passed, gerard flinched as the car door was reopened and the sound of rustling plastic bags reached his ears. 

“Sorry I took so long—I kept remembering things to grab. Are you okay back there?” The car door slammed again and gerard felt eyes on him.

He refused to crawl out from under the coat to meet his new Master’s eyes. Not even when he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him back and forth. The touch just made him recoil and he sobbed—pulling the coat closer to his face in order to hide. 

“Okay… I’m going to take you back to my place now, okay? We’ll get you warm.” The man stopped touching him and started the car, turning the heat back up until gerard was finally compelled to peel the hood of the coat off his face. Around the same time, the car stopped again and gerard was practically flooded with terror.

They were here—at this stranger’s house. That was where the kindness would stop—the abuse would begin, the pain gerard would be made to endure, the agony he deserved for being such a worthless creature. He didn’t want hurt anymore. The horrors of the auction house had been enough for him and he didn’t want tortured, he didn’t want sex with this strange man—especially not for cameras. 

“Hey—we’re here. You’ve gotta get up.”

Gerard heard him, but made no motions. He didn’t want to—he would rather stay in the car and rot.

“It’s okay. I _promise_ nothing bad’s going to happen,” the stranger insisted. 

How many times had his Master used the same line? “No, Babe, you’re not in trouble. Just come down to the basement with me. Help me move something.” Yeah… Then he would be strapped to the table and punished for a mistake he made a week beforehand. 

Gerard wasn’t falling for the trick this time. He would never be so foolish again—so foolish as to believe he had value or that he could be loved by his Masters. This man would hurt him, it was only a matter of time. 

Gerard cried softly to himself when he heard the back door of the car being opened, knowing that next he would be dragged out onto the ground—probably kicked until he obeyed and got on his feet.

Only the painful grip on his hair never appeared, just a gentle caress to his shoulder through the bulky coat.

“Hey… I know you’re scared, but we have to go inside. Don’t you want to get cleaned up?”

Gerard sniffled and did his best to keep his face buried in the seat cushion. He wished this would all stop—that time would freeze and he could just lay here until things started making sense. But this Master obviously wasn’t going to allow him that reprieve.

“Come on. You can’t stay out here. Let’s just go inside. It’ll be okay.”

And so gerard was coaxed onto his feet and made to stand in a parking lot full of more cars. He’d expected a garage or a long driveway like Master had, but there was nothing. Just a large building in front of them. For a long moment, gerard couldn’t make sense of what it was. Was his new Master secretly very wealthy? Was this entire _fortress_ his estate?

Then it dawned on him. Apartments. It was an apartment building…

His new Master was poor.

The realization made him cry even harder. Not only had he been sold, not only had he been sold as a prop for films, not only had he been uprooted and taken away from everything familiar—he was now to live in poverty. No more fine wine or king-sized beds. No more premium dinners on the nights he was allowed to eat. Just fast food and a mattress no doubt infested with bedbugs. 

Gerard continued to sob brokenly as he was escorted into the building, the stranger holding his hand every step of the way—his only anchor to the world. 

He had lived with Master for so many years—so, so many years. Had it been eight? Ten?

Too long to make this transition easy.

“It’s alright,” his new Master insisted as he led gerard into a tiny, cramped space. This was no three story mansion like Master had. The entire space was the size of his true Master’s two living rooms combined. It was despicable—deplorable. Just awful.

The only redeeming trait the apart had going for it was its emptiness. Gerard half expected a camera crew to be waiting for him—ready to shoot his induction film as soon as he was I the9 door. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank didn’t know why the man was still crying so hard or if he ever intended to stop. He was curled in a corner of the room, not accepting Frank’s invitation to sit on the couch or at the kitchen table. He was just a sobbing and trembling mess and all of Frank’s efforts to console him just made matters worse. 

He tried to touch him, just wanting to rub his shoulder and offer comfort, but the contact made the other man scream and press harder into the wall. Frank had no choice but to give up and sit alone on his couch. He turned on the television, but nothing in the programming could keep his interest. All he could focus on was the slave pressed against the wall behind him crying as though someone were attacking him. 

Frank sighed heavily and looked around the room, trying to think of _anything_ he could offer that would calm his guest down. It just didn’t make sense to him how anyone would want to _buy_ someone like this, or _make_ someone turn into this. All of the slaves sold that night had to be in the same living hell as the one Frank had bought, only worse. They were probably being tortured right now, being broken in by their new masters. 

That was what Frank’s black-haired slave was expecting, wasn’t it? Frank to suddenly change his demeanor and come after what he’d paid for. Telling him he had no desire to do those awful things sounded like a blessing too good to be true for the slave. He was prepared for excruciating pain and degradation. Mercy probably wasn’t even a word in his vocabulary. He didn’t trust Frank—he had no reason to trust anyone who had been in that auction house.

Frank’s eyes landed on the manila envelope the slave’s former owner had given him after the sale. He’d set it on his kitchen table with the bag of toiletries and sweat clothes he’d bought for the slave at a Wal-Mart before coming home. 

He stood from the couch, his motion somehow startling his house guest who gasped and pressed himself even harder to the wall, and made his way into his kitchenette to retrieve the envelope. He took it back with him to the couch, and once he sat down the slave seemed to relax—or give up. He still cried, but his sobs were much softer as though he were finally starting to calm down and collect himself. 

Frank opened the envelope and pulled out the contents, first a small black book and then a stack of papers. He set the book aside and started flipping through the pages. They were medical records and reports, showing an in-depth look at all of the slave’s former ailments and injuries. It was like an automobile’s accident report—only for a human being. He was prone to dizziness and fainting spells. Three years ago, his arm had been broken. The year before that he’d suffered two broken ribs. He’d been given stitches twice, once from a kitchen knife “accident” and once from “a physical altercation.” The most recent injuries were what caught Frank’s attention. 

He’d gotten a severe sinus infection, multiple infected laceration, a dislocated jaw, and “wounds consistent with harsh sexual activity.” 

_Activity._ He wasn’t human enough to have his plight labeled a sexual _assault._ Les had told Frank he was giving his slave away because a visitor had “used” him. Raped was more like it. Les had no sympathy for the suffering his “pet” had endured and his only response was to mourn his property being damaged and sell it off to the highest bidder. Frank wondered if the man even comforted his slave at all after finding out what had happened—or did he blame his pet for the whole thing?

Frank set the top two papers aside and started reading the third. It was broken into two columns, and Frank cringed when he realized what they were. 

Turn-ons and turn-offs. Things to help get his new slave in the mood and things to torment him with when he disobeyed. 

Turn-ons: Wine, kissing, hands in hair, compliments, inner thighs. It grew more and more explicit as the list went on and Frank shook his head. The same could be said for the list of turn-offs, the first being oral sex or, as it was written on the paper, Cock-sucking **He BITES.

The list included all kinds of aggressive treatments—neglect, full-body restraint, choking, needles, _urethra insertions,_ horrible things—and it made Frank sick to his stomach to imagine that everything on this list had been used against the man cowering against his wall. No wonder he was terrified. What if a sadist had bought him? That psychopath would know every single thing to do to get under the slave’s skin.

Frank tossed aside the papers and picked up the black book, not sure what to expect when he opened it. Maybe more tips on how to keep his new pet in line or more medical logs.

However, the first page of the book was lined with tiny sketches—as was the next page and the next. Some looked like comic book panels, others looked like photo realism—images of furniture and flowers. 

In the middle of the book was a detailed portrait of a Black man with short, curly hair. He was smiling, and every line of the face looked perfect—as if it were a photograph. Written under the fading smudges of the man’s neck was the name Marcus with a tiny heart drawn beside it, a heart so small it nearly looked like a speck.

Frank knew this man wasn’t his new slave’s master, and he began to wonder if this was someone the slave admired—maybe the heart was drawn so small in hopes his master wouldn’t notice it if he saw the sketch.

After flipping through all the pages—about three quarters of them full of drawings with a small portion left blank—Frank looked over his shoulder at the man who had thankfully fallen silent. He was slumped against the wall, however, staring blankly in Frank’s direction with no light or life in his eyes at all. 

Slowly, Frank stood up from the couch and walked over to him, carrying the small black book with him. The slave’s eyes immediately shot toward Frank’s face and he started shaking again. 

“Hey. It’s okay,” Frank said as softly as he could, coming to sit on the floor in front of the man. “I think I have something of yours.” Frank held out the small sketch book and watched as the slave’s expression turned from a grimace of fear to dazed wonder. He slowly reached out and took the book from Frank, checking Frank’s face every now and then as he drew the book back to his chest as if expecting to be struck. “Did you do all these?” Frank asked, offering his houseguest a smile.

The man just stared at him, then looked back down at the book. 

“They’re really good,” Frank added. “I liked the one of Marcus.” He’d hoped it might make the other man happy or at least make him feel more secure, but it only seemed to scare him worse. He clutched the book to his chest and started babbling out apologies and pleas—begging Frank not to take the book away, that Frank had nothing to worry about because Marcus was far, far away. “No—It’s okay. I’m not worried about Marcus. I was just paying you a compliment. You did these sketches right?”

The man stared at him a moment, his eyes wet and brimming with even more tears despite how much he’d already cried, then nodded and ducked his head.

“They’re good drawings. You have real talent,” Frank said. 

The man looked down at the closed book, then glanced up at Frank. His expression had changed and he was examining Frank’s face—seeking signs of deception and deciding whether or not Frank could be trusted or if this were all a ploy to get his defenses to drop.

“Did someone teach you to draw like that?” Frank asked, trying hard to make a normal conversation. Anything was better than sitting with a complete stranger who did nothing but sob. Any conversation he could muster would work.

“I just like to draw,” the man whispered, staring at the book instead of Frank. 

“Is there anything else you like? Do you paint?”

“Master wouldn’t buy me paints,” the slave whispered, his eyes tearing up.

“Oh… I’m not very good at art. I can write a little, but that’s about it.” Frank tried to laugh but it just came out forced and the man continued staring with that dazed, curious confusion. It was better than the crying, but he could tell the man didn’t trust him and probably never would.

“I write sometimes,” the man whispered, licking his lips and sniffling.

“What do you write?” Frank asked. 

The man licked his lips and stared at his lap as he spoke.

“Little poems and song lyrics sometimes. Nothing…nothing decent. Just stupid things.”

“If you can write even half as good as you draw, they’re not stupid,” Frank said, reaching out and setting a hand on the other man’s knee. 

He flinched, but didn’t pull away—looking more resigned to his fate than comfortable with the touch.

“Is there something I can get you? Water or…or something to eat?”

The man perked up immediately and met Frank’s gaze, eyes wide and hopeful.

“How about this. I’ll make you soup for dinner and you can get washed up in the bathroom. I know you’ll feel a lot better, and I got you a change of clothes.”

Again, the man’s face crumpled as if Frank offering for him to wash up was an attack. 

“Come here,” Frank said, standing up slowly and offering the slave his hand. The man hesitated, but then reached out and took it—squeezing his eyes shut as he did, as if he were being forced. “It’s okay. I promise; I’m not going to hurt you.”

He slowly led the man toward the bathroom and showed him where the towels and washcloths were. The man just stared at him, watching as Frank showed him how to work the shower. Frank brought the sweat clothes he’d purchased at Wal-Mart as well as a pair of his own boxers and socks (clean of course) to the bathroom so the man could change into something more comfortable once he was clean.

Frank promised the man dinner when he finished showering and set to work preparing the soup as soon as he heard the shower clip on. He had to keep the bowl heating on the stove long after it had finished cooking, his guest taking far longer in the shower than Frank had initially anticipated. He thought it might be a while, knowing his quest would want to wash off the filth of that terrible place, but when forty-five minutes had ticked by, Frank had no choice but to go knock on the door.

What if he’d fainted? What if he’d slipped and had fallen down? Frank couldn’t just leave him there to die.

He pressed his ear to the door a moment before knocking, listening for sounds of distress. All he could hear was the rush of the water and the hum of the bathroom fan. He pulled back on knocked, but when he got no answer he cracked open the door.

“H-Hey… Um, I’m sorry to bother you. I finished dinner a little while ago. I just wanted to make sure you were okay…” He peeked into the room when he received no answer. He expected to see the man’s silhouette behind the shower curtain, but instead he was met with his guest standing directly on the other side of the door—staring out at him through the crack, his only visible eye wide and his expression hostile. 

Frank cursed and drew back from the doorway, stumbling a bit in fear of an attack. As soon as he showed fear, however, the other man’s demeanor immediately changed and his expression went from one of aggression to fright. Still, he didn’t move from the small crack in the doorway and just stared at Frank, his jaw a little bit slack.

“Are…are you okay?” Frank asked, looking the man up and down—what he could see of him between the door and the frame—and felt his cheeks start to burn when he realized his guest wasn’t at all dressed. All he could see of him was the outline of his bare hip and thigh, his arm and a bit of his shoulder, but it was enough. Frank had seen every sad, sorry bit of him on the stage in that auction house, but this was different. They were alone together now, and he knew what the man was expecting of him—fearing about him. “I-If you get dressed, I have dinner ready… And—And turn the shower off if you’re finished, okay?” Frank said, swallowing hard and turning away. He hurried back to the kitchenette and started separating the soup into two bowls. 

When he set them down on the table, he heard the shower clip off and only a moment later his guest crept out into view dressed in the sweat clothes. He was running his fingers through his wet hair self-consciously, and made only brief eye contact with Frank as he slowly stepped up to the table. 

“Here,” Frank said, pulling out one of the three chairs for him and trying to keep a polite smile as the man hesitated before eventually sitting down. He moved as though he expected Frank to pull the chair away from him, or kick it over once he’d finally sat down—no trust or good faith in his eyes at all. 

Frank offered him a smile once he was seated, then grabbed each of them a cup of water before seating himself across from his guest at the table.

“You know I…I don’t usually have friends over,” Frank said, kicking himself inside for how stupid he sounded but desperate to strike up any conversation he could. 

“It’s lonely here,” his guest whispered, picking up his spoon and examining it with a mounting sadness. 

“Why…Why do you think it’s lonely?” Frank asked, gathering a spoonful of soup and drinking it down. Once he’d taken a sip, his guest seemed to find his confidence and immediately followed suit.

“There’s no one here,” he said after swallowing a mouthful of the soup.

“I’m here,” Frank said softly. 

The man glanced at him, then frowned and dropped his gaze back to his bowl and began to drink it ravenously by the spoonful—barely stopping to breathe in between his hurried sips. 

Soup wasn’t going to be enough, Frank realized. His guest had very obviously been starved, and he’d finished his bowl before Frank made it through even half of his own

“Do you…do you want me to make you something else to eat? I’ve got…cereal and I think a couple waffles left the freezer. You know—to make in the toaster,” Frank added when his guest began to look horrified by the prospect of eating frozen waffles. “Are you still hungry?”

“I… I could eat more,” the man whispered, looking at Frank nervously. He seemed ashamed to have eaten so quickly, but licked his lips as if to savor any drop of soup left over.

“Let me see what I can find you,” Frank said, getting up from the table and stepping over to the fridge. He really wished he’d gone grocery shopping with some of that money. He really did…

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard found himself sitting on the couch with a fair bit of space between himself and his new Master. He was snacking on a box of crackers after his dinner of soup and waffles and dry toast, relieved to have finally gotten to fill his stomach after being made to go so long without food to prepare him for the sale.

But he didn’t want to remember that place.

It had been so horrible… So frightening. Gerard knew he would be seeing it in his nightmares for the rest of his life, just like the last time… Though at that first sale he hadn’t been touched by the guards. That was by far the worst thing he’d ever had done to him in a sale house. In that moment he was so certain his beloved Keeper was going to let the stranger have him—hurt him—there in front of everyone. Where anyone could see his shame…

“Are you okay?”

Gerard flinched at the sound of his new Master’s voice, not used to it at all. He went so long with the only voices he heard being his True Master’s, Marcus’ and Adam’s. Even after the strange men had been given the chance to take him, even after the horror of the auction house, he still wasn’t used to the strangeness.

He probably never would be. 

Gerard knew that when a Master spoke, it was his duty to respond, but no words came to mind. Was he okay? Was he alright?

No… He was terrified. He was waiting for that friendly demeanor to dissipate and turn to violence. There were three types of Masters, gerard was convinced: the ones who were cruel from the start, the ones who bought with the intent to kill, and the ones like this man—the ones who acted so sickeningly sweet at the beginning in order to savor it when he got the chance to break their slaves’ trust. Gerard wasn’t going to fall for it. He would behave, he would be polite to postpone a beating as long as he could, but he knew where it would all lead.

Sometime tonight, his new Master was going to take him. Probably right there on the couch, too, from the looks of things. He’d say something like “you still owe me for dinner and for sparing your life,” and then it would begin and gerard would be helpless against him.

It could be gentle like his first time with his True Master, or it could be agonizingly torturous. Gerard was still waiting for the cameras to make an appearance, sometimes wondering if there was one hidden in the movies scattered below the television.

The tiny, tiny living quarters were so cluttered and messy that gerard could hardly believe it. He must’ve gone a long time without a pet to do his cleaning for him, and now it was gerard’s turn to pick up the mess.

He dreaded the next day when he would undoubtedly be taught how to do his rounds—what to clean, how to clean it, what to touch, what not to touch—but feared the night the most.

Any second now—any second—the man would make his move and gerard would have to follow his lead. He couldn’t say no; he couldn’t fight. His entire function in life was to provide pleasure, to submit to a superior man’s desires and hold still as it all happened to him. Hopefully this man wouldn’t expect moans the first time—not convincing ones anyway. All gerard wanted to do was curl up and cry, and it would take everything in him not to do just that when his new Master decided it was time to claim him.

“Hey…” The man put his hand on gerard’s shoulder, causing gerard to let out a shaky, fearful breath. “I know you’re worried and you have your reasons to be, I guess, but…I’m really not going to hurt you. Okay? I’m—I’m not that kind of guy; I’m not one of _those_ guys.”

“You make videos,” gerard whimpered, not certain if he was arguing or stating the reason he was so petrified.

“No. I really don’t,” the man said, his eyes nearly looking genuine when gerard chanced a small glance. “Look, I didn’t know what that place was. I just happened to go in and you know if I’d tried to leave right away, they probably would’ve shot me.”

Gerard looked at him out of the corner of his eye, not at all believing what the man said. He’d come to buy. He’d gotten passionate in his bidding and gerard would _never_ forget the rage and disappointment in his eyes when he thought he’d lost the sale. Why Master had changed his mind and accepted this man’s smaller bid, gerard would never understand. He said it had something to do with mercy when he dragged gerard backstage, but even that felt like a lie.

Nothing felt true anymore. Not one single thing.

“I mean it. I’m not…I’m not one of them. I-I work in a diner six days a week. This apartment’s all I’ve got besides my car. I don’t have thousands of dollars to—to bid on people like that,” the man said, raising his voice just a little. He wanted gerard to agree with him, that had become obvious, so gerard merely nodded his head as if he accepted the words as truth and mumbled out a small, “yes, Sir.”

“Please—you have to believe me. I don’t have _slaves._ I just have me and my guitars and—and _Sweet Pea._ ”

Sweet Pea? Was that a name?”

Gerard suddenly perked up and started looking around what he could see of the dingy apartment—looking for a companion. Maybe this Master didn’t like to call his whores “slaves.” Maybe he just liked calling them pets—and maybe he had another pet that could help give gerard insight into the rules of the house.

That would make things easier. It was hard to form his own opinion of the strange man, but it would be easier if another slave could tell him what was real and what was lies. He’d give anything to know whether or not he could believe his new Master. He _wanted_ to be with someone kind, with someone loving and good and gentle…

Someone like marcus. 

He wanted this Master to be affectionate the way marcus was and so far he seemed that way. He’d even given gerard his sketchbook though gerard had no idea where he’d found it or when his True Master had given it to him. That had to mean he was at least somewhat good, right?

And if he had another pet—this Sweet Pea person—and he let them keep the house in such disarray, he couldn’t be very strict.

Immediately, gerard sensed himself falling helplessly into the man’s trap. He wanted to trust him—he was starting to believe him.

“Sweet Pea?” Gerard asked, frowning when he couldn’t spot anyone or any indications that someone besides his new Master lived in the tiny space.

“Yeah. She—She’s not here right now. She’s stay with my friend Ray, but I’ll bring her home tomorrow.”

Immediately, gerard’s stomach tightened and he scooted further away on the couch from this man. He was no better than Master had been those last few weeks. He sent his pets away to live with friends, to get used in awful ways he didn’t even care to participate in or witness, then brought them home and loathed them—gerard bet—for getting contaminated. Just like Master. Master let the Bad Man stay with them. Master wasn’t there to stop it. Then he came home and blamed gerard for something he had no control over.

This Master was going to be just the same. Just. The. Same.

Gerard felt the tears burning at his eyes again and turned his face defiantly away from his Master, not even wanting to look at him he was so repulsed. 

“Wh-what’s the matter? I-I thought that would make you happy. It won’t be lonely with Sweet Pea here, I promise. You’ll like her. Please don’t cry.”

The man scooted closer and started rubbing gerard’s shoulder, shushing him and cooing as if gerard were a small child. It would be comforting without the nagging thoughts and doubts and fears at the back of gerard’s mind.

“Look—I’ll show you a picture. You’ll like her. Really.”

Gerard didn’t want to look at any pictures. He didn’t want to imagine this slave’s pretty face being contorted with pain after all the awful things this strange Master’s friends did to her. 

“Look. Please? Please, just look. You’ll like her. See?” 

Gerard forced himself to blink through his tears and turn his head toward the cell phone being pushed into his face. He feared above all that the man would start beating him with it—the way his True Master had done to him before—but the man made no aggressive motions. 

“What the hell is that!?” Gerard sobbed when his eyes finally focused enough to look at the screen he was being shown. There was no woman—not even a man—just some grey, furry rat being pushed into his face and referred to as his future companion.

“She’s a dog!” The man said, raising his voice and hardening his tone enough that gerard fell quiet, stifling even his cries of fear. “She’s my Chihuahua. I rescued her from the shelter.”

Gerard didn’t dare speak his thoughts—that the man had been duped and had been given an over-sized, point eared rat in place of a dog. He just stared silently at the hideous pictures being shown to him of that little grey creature that was to be his “Friend.”

It broke his heart a bit, too, when the realization dawned on him. The man spoke so affectionately about the rat—even discussing how he lets her on the table when he eats—that gerard knew he would be second to the animal. He would have gone from being his True Master’s favorite, to his least favorite, to being lower than a dog…

The thought truly devastated him, and no matter what he couldn’t think of a way out of it. He couldn’t hate this new Master, and he was afraid to hate the animal, but he was still so _angry_ about what had been done. It was so unfair to go from being the best to being nothing—to being kept in tiny apartment full of trash and clutter instead of his True Master’s neat and tidy mansion. 

Even so, there was nothing he could do about it. He was helpless and at this man’s mercy. So far, he appeared kind, but how long would it last? Hours? Maybe days? Certainly not weeks and definitely not forever. He’d start the beatings soon, the punishments, the torture sessions to keep him in line. Soon enough this patience was going to go away and be replaced by something darker…

Soon.


	11. The First Nights are Always the Worst

Frank didn’t know why or what he could do to stop it, but as soon as he laid out the blankets and pillows on his couch and told his guest that was where he could sleep, the man started crying again—and not _just_ crying. He fell onto the floor beside the couch, covering his face as he wept as though Frank had struck him.

“What?” Frank asked, kneeling down beside him and rubbing his shoulder. “What’s wrong?—What?” 

The man wouldn’t say—he just _scream_ sobbed and rubbed at his eyes, sometimes forming choked up words that Frank couldn’t even dream of understanding. 

“Come on—it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. This is just where you’ll sleep, okay? It’s all yours.”

That was when the man finally shouted something Frank could understand.

“All alone!?” He dropped his hands and stared at Frank with wide, wet eyes. When Frank couldn’t immediately answer him, he ducked his head again and went back to sobbing.

“Well… Well, isn’t it nice to have your own place to—”

“I don’t want to be _alone!_ Please, Master! I-I _can’t_ be alone! Why don’t you want me?”

“I-I _do_ want you,” Frank said, struggling to find words to deal with the man—desperate to appease him so he’d stop bawling like a lost child. “C-Can you not cry? Please—Please, don’t cry. I have neighbors. You’ve gotta be quiet.” He just didn’t understand what the other man wanted. He’d been tortured and frightened and _sold_ for God’s sake. Why didn’t he want to lay down in peace? 

“I don’t want to be alone,” he cried, lowering his voice immediately. “Please, Master. Please—please, Master. I can’t be alone. Don’t leave me alone.”

“You won’t be alone. I’ll be in the next room—”

“I-I can’t—please. I have to be with you. I can’t be alone. Don’t leave me.”

“Stop. Come on—stop it. You have to sleep here. There’s nowhere else. You’ll be okay.”

“N-No, you don’t understand!” He was screaming like a child afraid of a monster hiding under his bed, and though Frank could understand the man probably feared someone coming to hurt him in the night, there was nothing he could do. He wasn’t going to share his bed with this stranger who could very well smother him with a pillow in the middle of the night. 

They had to be separated—Frank needed space in order to think.

“Please. Stop it. You just need to sleep, and I need some rest too.”

“B-But I have nightmares,” the man pleaded, staring at Frank with large eyes. He truly was like a small child. “Please?”

It broke Frank’s heart to tell him no yet again. 

“I’m sorry. Just try to sleep, okay? If you need the bathroom, you know where it is. There’s snacks and water in the kitchen. You’ll be okay,” Frank said, trying to keep his voice gentle. He understood how scared the man was. Frank’s night had been stressful, but this man’s night had been worse. 

He’d been uprooted, abused, traumatized, and sold to a stranger he didn’t know if he could trust or not. He had so much to be afraid of and no reason to believe Frank when he promised not to hurt him. 

“But, M-Master—”

“You don’t have to call me that. Call me Frank, okay? That’s my name.” Frank offered him a smile but the man just continued to stare at cry. “Get some sleep, okay?”

Frank had to ignore it when the man called after him—begged his “master” to come back—and locked himself in the bathroom so he could wash up for bed. He didn’t have to work until the next evening so he could have pushed his shower back until morning, but he was eager to wash away anything he may have picked up in that awful sale house.

The shower was as fast as he could make it, fearful of what might happen when he couldn’t hear anything but the rushing water. Sleep, he realized, would be difficult with the other man in his home. Part of him doubted his guest would try anything—try to hurt him—but he didn’t know. 

Part of him still worried he’d been followed by someone from that auction house—planning to rob him, or kill him, or take back the slave.

When he got out of the shower, however, the man had yet to move from the couch where he had wrapped himself up in all the blankets he’d been given. He seemed unaware of Frank who watched him from the narrow hallway, and rocked back and forth on the couch whispering to himself in the dark.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay—We’ll be okay.” Over and over and over. 

( ) ( ) ( )

His new Master had gone to bed hours ago, leaving gerard alone—frightened—on that uncomfortable, lumpy, _smelly_ couch. He couldn’t understand why this new Master didn’t want him, and that was what kept him up after exhaustion robbed him of his terror. Sleep wasn’t coming so gerard needn’t worry about nightmares. What the morning brought, however… That was something to fear. 

Marcus had tried to warn him about what to expect—other whores in the auction house had even tried to give him tips. The man was to want sex right away. He would want to prove his dominance and put gerard in his place as soon as he could. There would be pain and sex and punishment. There would be bindings, probably, until his new Master was sure gerard wouldn’t try to run away. 

Gerard has spent days crying, dreading whatever painful experience his new master would have in store for him on his first night in the new home. 

But his nightmares never included this outcome—that his new Master would be kind. Or that his new Master would be _disinterested_ in him.

This man bought him, yet he didn’t seem to want to claim him or use him in any way. He wouldn’t even let gerard share his bed. Gerard understood that he wasn’t worthy of that closeness, that a master allowing him to sleep at their side was a privilege, but this was painful. He wanted attention. He wanted to feel safe in this new, tiny space and being isolated just filled him with more uncertainty and fear. 

What if all of this was a test? What if his new Master was awake and was watching him on some hidden camera? What if he was tallying up all of the unspoken rules gerard had broken and was creating a punishment regiment? 

Gerard didn’t want punished, even if he knew that was inevitably what was going to happen. He wanted a chance to prove to this man how well he was trained and how good of a pet he could be. Even if he wanted his True Master back, even if he believed with all of his heart that his real Master would realize His mistake and come back for him eventually, gerard wanted this new man to know him as obedient and submissive and devoted. 

He just wanted a chance to prove himself, yet here he was—forgotten on a small, smelly couch with no one to offer him warmth or comfort. Didn’t this new Master understand how frightening this ordeal was? Why did he have to force gerard to sleep—to _suffer_ —all alone? 

Hours after his new Master had gone to sleep, gerard’s sobs gave way to nausea again and this time it was one he couldn’t fight. He resisted as long as he could, but in the end had to stumble onto his feet and hurry for the bathroom. 

He tried to clip on the light, but the switch wasn’t where he thought it should be—it wasn’t where his Master’s had been in _his_ bathroom. That made his anxiety even worse. He could have navigated his Master’s mansion in complete darkness—blindfolded even. Every nook and cranny, he had memorized.

It was all he knew—all he needed to know. He’d never been faced with anything other than routine, than familiarity for over eight years… Until the Bad Man came he’d never had to face anything unfamiliar. Never.

Gerard fell onto his knees, his left elbow slamming against what he believed to be the bathroom sink on his way down. He vomited before he even reached the floor, dread overwhelming him as he heard it splatter on the unseen tile. Immediately, he covered his head and trembled—shaking from the sickness, shaking from the fear of a blow to the head. 

He started retching again, threw up again, then slumped over against the curved sink. His whole body was wracked by tremors and he couldn’t take an even breath—feeling as though someone were choking him as his stomach continued to tighten and churn. 

He’d give anything to be back home where marcus would’ve heard the commotion and come to check on him. He would wrap gerard in his arms and help him to breathe. Marcus would cradle him, comfort him, keep him safe if Master came into the room angry. 

“I’ll clean it, Master,” marcus would say. “Please, go back to bed. Don’t worry, Master. We’ll take care of it. That’s our job.” And he would be able to smile at Master and get him to go away without yelling or hitting. 

And gerard would apologize to marcus for causing so much trouble—but marcus was kind and he’d say it was all alright. 

Marcus would hold him. Marcus would make sure he wasn’t lonely or scared. 

Gerard sobbed and bumped his head repeatedly against the cold, hard sink—the jarring pain distracting from his nausea and the darkness swirling around him. 

Until a light clipped on and he was faced with the mess he’d made.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank didn’t know what to think when he woke up to the sound of a loud bang. He feared someone had broken in—or that his guest had broken out—or a gun had been fired, or something had been destroyed. Then he heard the sound of gagging from just outside his bedroom and could hear his guest crying and vomiting. He had hoped the man would tire himself out and sleep, but that clearly wasn’t happening. He was a nervous wreck and only grew worse after Frank had left him all alone. 

Frank sighed and got out of his bed, preparing himself for whatever disaster he faced outside his door. The man was on his knees in the bathroom, leaning against the sink—whispering to himself as he banged his head into the base of the sink over and over. Frank tried to call out to him, but the man didn’t answer—he just kept whispering to himself and crying—and banging his head.

After Frank had switched on the bathroom light, however, the man snapped out of it and went completely silent. Frank groaned at the sight of his bathroom—everything spattered with vomit from his shower curtain to his bathmat. Clearly he’d tried to reach the toilet but hadn’t made it in time.

It was disgusting—revolting if Frank were truly honest—but he couldn’t help but feel even sorrier for the man. He was _terrified._ Frank hadn’t done a single thing to hurt him, but that wasn’t enough to win his trust or reassure him that nothing bad would happen to him tonight. 

“Hey,” Frank said, kneeling down on the floor behind the man and putting a hand on his shoulder.

The man jumped, but wouldn’t turn to face him. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

Frank had to pull him up onto his feet and helped him keep his balance as he rinsed out his mouth and washed off his face and hands in the sink. He tried to get the man to lay back down on the couch so he could go clean up the atrocity in the bathroom, but the man refused. He demanded to know where the cleaning supplies were—and kept asking over and over again until Frank caved and let him lock himself away in the bathroom to clean it up himself. 

He just kept saying it was his job and he was sorry. 

Frank waited, albeit half asleep, on the couch for close to an hour before the man returned. He wouldn’t look Frank in the eye as he returned the bottles of cleaner to their place under the kitchen sink, and when he returned to stand in front of Frank he asked in a soft voice if there were fresh clothes he could change into. Frank could see already that the sweat clothes he’d bought for the man were stained with bleach now—so drastically it looked as if he’d poured it on himself.

After he gave the man a pair of his own pajama pants and an old t-shirt, Frank went into the kitchenette and poured himself a cup of water as his guest changed clothes behind him. He got a cup of water for the man, too, and took it to him after he’d finished changing.

“Master?” The man whispered.

“I told you, call me Frank.” Frank smiled at him and rubbed his shoulder as he gestured for the other man to sit back down on the couch.

His guest looked so disheartened to be made to sit on the couch again and he stared at Frank with his wide, wet eyes—waiting for something. A command, maybe. A slap in the face… He’d been through so much tonight (in his whole life in general) and it broke Frank’s heart when he realized there was not a single thing he could do that would make the man feel better.

“Do you want some more water?” Frank asked, looking from the slave to the empty glass of water on the coffee table across from his couch. 

The man hesitated a moment, then began nodding his head slowly. Frank hurried to get him water and rubbed the man’s shoulder as he drank it. 

“You really need to get some sleep tonight,” Frank whispered after the man set the glass back down on the coffee table. 

The man stared at Frank with a strange gleam in his eyes. It was something like thinly veiled anger—but maybe anger wasn’t the right word. He didn’t look _mad,_ more like irritated.

Frank didn’t understand him. That’s what the look was about. He was scared to death and physically ill from it yet Frank was telling him to sleep like it was no big deal. 

“You said earlier that you don’t…don’t want to be alone. Would it help if I stayed here until you fell asleep? I-I won’t hurt you or…or touch you or anything. I just want to make sure you get a little sleep tonight.” Frank tried to offer him a smile, but the man just stared at him—that same irritable look in his eyes. “Come,” Frank said, standing up from the couch and pulling back the blankets. “Lay down.”

The man let out a heavy, deep sigh and then obeyed. He shuffled under the blankets and nuzzled the pillow Frank had given him, now avoiding eye contact when Frank looked at him. 

“Do you want me to stay here?” Frank asked. When the man didn’t answer, Frank sighed and started to walk away—surprised when the man whimpered and snagged the leg of Frank’s pajama pants. Frank looked down at him and offered a sympathetic smile before sitting down in the small space available at the foot of the couch. The man curled his legs in even further, giving Frank more room, but slowly—as the minutes passed—let his blanket covered foot extend until it rested against Frank’s leg. 

Frank looked down at the lump in the blanket for a moment, then reached down and placed his hand on the man’s calf. His guest looked up at him as soon as the contact was made, staring fearfully for a long time until he seemed to realize Frank had no interest in taking the gentle touch any further. He let his head flop back down against the pillow and closed his eyes. 

Frank thought that maybe he should talk to him or sing or anything to break up the silence, but he was hard-pressed to think of anything worth saying. When he finally thought of something, he looked down and the man was asleep—his lips slightly parted. Frank watched him a moment longer, then slowly stood up from the couch and went back to his room, leaving the door open a crack so he could hear if anything happened. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard had rolled over and fallen off the couch both of the times he’d managed to keep his eyes closed long enough to sleep. The first time he woke up as he slipped off the edge, having half a second to panic before colliding with the hard, unforgiving floor.

The second time he woke up as his face smacked the corner of the coffee table his new Master had by the couch, upsetting the glass of water that was there and causing it to spill onto the floor.

Gerard sat on the floor crying a moment, holding his cheek and trembling. He’d feared, at first, that his new Master had pushed him off the couch—angry at him for some reason—but when he looked over his shoulder there was no one else in the room. 

His new Keeper called to him from the unseen bedroom to ask if he was alright, to which gerard replied with a shaky “yes, sir” before climbing back onto the narrow couch. He laid there shaking until morning—until light started peeking in from the curtain across the room. 

Gerard stared at the sad drapery—a plain beige sheet—and longed for his Master’s ornate, rich patterns. Master’s curtains in the living room were dark red with gold threads, a black, intricate pattern printed on the fabric. Behind the heavy drapes were delicate lace… Pretty lace.

Master brought them back after he went to Europe on business. 

He’d been gone two weeks and their temporary keeper had been harsh and cruel… He’d mostly hurt marcus, though. Everybody knew that gerard was Master’s favorite. Everyone but the Bad Man it seemed. They knew if they damaged gerard then Master would be angry with them… As for marcus, he was replaceable. 

Not to gerard, though… He would never know anyone else like marcus. He dared to think he missed marcus more than Master…

Gerard lost track of how long he’d been staring at the curtain, only occasionally drawn from his thoughts by the sounds in the hallway outside—people walking, talking, shouting, banging doors and jingling keys. The noises intimidated him at first, far from being used to the noise of the crowded apartments after spending his life safe and secluded at his Master’s estate, but he grew accustomed to them after a while. In some ways, the noises made him feel less alone as his new Master slept in the bedroom. 

He was almost able to tune the noises out until one sounded too close for comfort. It was a jingling and rustling noise in the hallway just outside his Master’s door and Gerard finally broke his staring contest with the covered widow to stare across the way at the closed door. 

His heart started beating harder and harder when the sounded didn’t move along down the hall like all the ones before it. Whoever was there just stood outside…waiting.

“M-Master?” Gerard whispered, meaning to call for his new Keeper but too frightened to raise his voice. That was until whoever was outside began pounding on the door. “Master?” Gerard repeated, his entire body shaking as he fumbled backwards—wanting to hide, wanting to run. 

He heard a noise coming from his Master’s room now, too, the threat coming from both sides. The banging came again and gerard backed away on the couch, slipping and falling off the edge for the third time—this time hitting his elbows instead of his face. He heard his new Master curse and then come running—then the pounding came again and gerard cowered, rolling onto his stomach and covering his head.

Whoever was at the door, he realized, was here for him. This new Master had lied when he promised no harm would come—he was just waiting for his friend to arrive so they could use gerard as a prop for their movies. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank hurried into his living room only to find his guest laying face-down on the floor trembling and covering his head. Someone was at his door—Ray no doubt, returning Sweet Pea before he had to go to work—and the knocking had terrified him. Frank’s only hope was that the man didn’t throw up again. 

Sighing, Frank hurried to the man’s side and kneeled beside him, rubbing his shoulder in hopes of soothing him. 

“Hey—it’s okay. Calm down. It’s just my friend. You don’t need to worry.”

The man cried something into the floor and recoiled from Frank’s touch as if it burned him. Realizing he could do nothing more to help, Frank jumped up from the floor when Ray pounded on the door again—acting as if he intended to try knocking the door down if Frank didn’t answer this time.

“I’ll be right back, okay? You just…stay,” Frank said, passing the man one last glance before hurrying to the door. “Ray?”

“Yeah—it’s me.”

“Can you wait just a sec? I need to…to grab my keys.” Not really waiting for a reply, Frank hurried back into his bedroom—passing the man who still cowered on his floor—and grabbed his keys off his nightstand. As he went back out of his bedroom, he couldn’t help but stop at the man’s side again. “Hey—come here. Come on.” 

Frank stooped down to the man’s side and rubbed his back. As soon as he’d said “come,” as soon as he’d given a command, the man whimpered and started pulling himself up from the ground—making it a little easier for Frank to get him on his feet.

“Why don’t you lay down for a bit, okay?” Frank said, watching his guest anxiously as he wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered. “Come on—I’ll let you sleep in my room for a little bit. How does that sound?”

“I-In bed?” The man stammered, moving where Frank guided him though his steps remained hesitant. 

“Just to sleep,” Frank said softly, knowing how much weight laying in a bed had to the slave. “You look so tired—did you hurt your cheek?” He hadn’t noticed the red mark on his guest’s face before and wondered if it came from the last time he’d fallen off the couch. There was a prominent bump on his forehead as well, but whether that was from the fall or from when he’d banged his head into the sink earlier in the night, he was uncertain. 

“I-I hit the c-coffee table,” the man whispered, looking over his shoulder as they entered into the bedroom. 

“You poor thing,” Frank said gently, rubbing the man’s shoulder soothingly with every step. “Do you need ice for it? Does it hurt?”

“I’ll be okay, Master,” the man whispered, slowly sinking down onto the bed. 

“Frank—my name is Frank.”

He seemed reluctant to lay down, watching Frank with fearful eyes. 

“I’m going to go downstairs with my friend for a minute, okay? He’s just bringing Sweet Pea back. You don’t have to be scared.”

Frank offered the man a smile, but his guest just stared at him—seated on the bed.

“I’ll be back in a minute, okay? And you can meet Sweet Pea. I’m sure you’ll love her. She’s a really nice dog.” Frank reached down and stroked the red mark on the man’s cheek. At first, the man flinched, then slowly relaxed into the touch—nuzzling Frank’s hand as his eyes slipped closed. “Lay down, Sweetheart,” Frank said, slowly taking his hand away. 

The man looked at him a moment longer, then nodded and shifted his way underneath the blankets. 

Once he seemed adjusted, Frank left the bedroom and closed the door—hurrying to get to Ray before the man lost his temper or Frank made him late for work.

“Hey,” Frank said, pulling open the door. 

“Hey—what’s…what’s going on? You got somebody over?” Ray asked. He was holding Sweet Pea under one arm—the little dog snorting and wiggling her whole body as soon as her eyes lit upon Frank. 

“Yeah… I-I’ve got a story for you. That’s for sure.” Frank reached out to take Sweet Pea from Ray, hugging her and letting her lick at his face. “I still have a bunch of stuff in my trunk from yesterday—I didn’t get to bring it in last night. Will you help me?”

“Yeah,” Ray said, looking him over with concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine, it’s just…a little weird is all.” Frank passed one last look over his shoulder at his apartment and then turned back to Ray, prepared to tell his story for the first of many, _many_ times.


	12. In which the two grow closer

Gerard snuggled down into the soft blankets of his new Master’s bed, preferring it much more than the lumpy couch. The sheets smelled fresh though he could see flecks of black and grey hair all over the sheets that he was certain came from the strange pet his Master kept. The pillow was a bit crumpled but gerard wouldn’t dare to complain. There was room enough in this bed for two and he was determined to make the most of the awful situation. If he was good, if he could behave, maybe tonight he’d be allowed to stay in the bed and not put on that awful, narrow couch again. 

He didn’t want to, but he was exhausted enough that he would even submit to a whipping if that was the price he needed to pay to get his new Master to let him share the bed. However, he doubted this Master would require a beating to know of gerard’s trust. He seemed to be a…a rather naïve Keeper to say the least.

He’d left gerard alone the first night, after all—and in the room with the door leading out. If gerard weren’t so well trained, he could’ve ran away. He could’ve talked to the _police._

The thought was enough to make gerard shudder in fear. His trainer had beaten him so badly whenever police or authorities were mentioned. He would purposely bring them up just to beat gerard, embedding the message deep into his slave’s mind—police were associated with pain. Gerard couldn’t even think about cops without images of horrific lashings playing over in his mind.

The memories summoned tears to his eyes and gerard hastily nuzzled the pillow in want of comfort. Typically when he thought of his trainer he went to marcus for comfort. All he had to do was hug him in a certain way and marcus would understand. He’d had a cruel trainer as well and knew exactly what gerard needed to fight the memories.

Only marcus was gone and so was the only other being capable of making gerard feel secure. After his new Master tucked gerard into the bed, gerard heard the door to the apartment open and, after hushed voices, heard it close and then the tiny apartment was silent.

He didn’t know what happened or why the man left or if he was ever coming back—or when, or if he’d be alone or bring bad men to hurt his new toy.

Gerard cried softly as he was left waiting—too scared to sleep. Just because his new Master was naïve didn’t mean he was nice. He could just be playing kind to win gerard’s favor or to test him. Maybe leaving him in the living area alone had just been a game and, if gerard had tried to run, he would have someone waiting on the other side of the door to grab him.

He didn’t want punished. He just needed this new Master to give him a chance—let him prove himself obedient. He was good—he’d always been the good slave. He really, really had. Maybe he messed up sometimes, maybe he got an attitude or acted too aggressive, but he always tried his best to behave. 

Gerard was still sniffling to himself when he heard the apartment door open and the voices returned—his new Master and another man. He heard the rustling of bags as well as the shrill yap of the pet his Master said would be returning. 

“No—No, Ray. Just leave the bags in here. He’s trying to sleep in the bedroom.”

“I want to see this guy! I want to know what you got yourself into.”

Gerard’s heart started pounding as he heard footsteps coming closer to the bedroom door. He wanted to get up and conceal himself, or at least move to cover his head with the blankets, but he was frozen. His position was so compromising and that was all he could think as he watched the door open. 

A strange man—a _large_ man—peered in the doorway at gerard who lay still on the bed. 

Gerard was cornered and trembling, waiting for the man to make his move—to come in and pin him, strip him, beat him and take him. Gerard was terrified, but he was ready. He wouldn’t fight. He’d spent weeks dreading this very moment and now was his only chance to escape that gnawing fear. 

He would submit. He would please his new Master and his new Master’s friends… What good came from fighting? The last time he resisted he ended up bound and abused in his Master’s basement. The last time he resisted, he was brutalized and neglected and sold. 

Gerard wouldn’t fight.

He turned his eyes toward the man in the doorway and sniffled one final time, bracing himself for whatever would come as the door opened a little more. The tall man had thick, curly hair that nearly reached his shoulders and large lips.

They looked soft at least. His face wasn’t cruel or harsh—his face seemed as soft as his plush lips. 

Maybe he would be gentle, gerard hoped. Maybe he’d give kisses that would be kind…

“Hey,” the man said, his voice as soft as his features. 

Gerard stared at him in silence, holding his breath as the man came into the room.

“Ray—let him be!” 

Gerard flinched at the sound of his new Master’s harsh voice and closed his eyes. He’d only been tormented by two men at once when he’d been with Trainer, and that had been a forced blow job and painful penetration with toys. He couldn’t imagine what this stranger, Ray, and his new Master would put him through without the fear of damaging their property before a sale. 

“Frank, relax. I’m just going to talk to him. Keep your voice down—you’re scaring him,” the man said, looking over his shoulder into the other room which gerard couldn’t see. 

Ray came into the room then, his hands full of bags which he set down by gerard’s new Master’s dresser. When he was out of the doorway, Master appeared in the room as well and gerard swallowed hard—avoiding looking at either of them as if keeping his eyes off them would somehow make it so they weren’t real.

“Come on, leave him alone, Ray.”

“I’m just going to talk to him. You didn’t even get his name.”

“He’s in shock—let him be. Come on. Just leave him alone.” 

Gerard slowly looked back toward his new Master at the doorway. This entire exchange made him so anxious. It frightened him that this stranger seemed to have more power and conviction than his new Master. What if he wanted gerard? What if he just decided to take him? What if he took gerard and hurt him and then his Master didn’t want him anymore, just like his True Master had?

“It’s okay. I just want to talk to you,” Ray said, coming toward the bed. Gerard stared at him, afraid to even blink or chew his lip. He was afraid of what this man wanted with him because never in his life had any man looked at him in the face and meant it when he said he wanted to talk. Talk meant fuck or punish. Nothing in between.

“Ray…”

“Come on, Frank.”

“You’re _scaring_ him. Just let him rest. I’ve got to go to work tonight—I can’t have you getting him worked up.”

“Am I scaring you?” Ray asked, looking at gerard who refused to answer. He couldn’t have if he wanted to—his mouth was dry and his jaw seemed to be permanently clamped shut. “Sorry,” he said, flashing a nervous smile and chuckling. 

His laugh reminded gerard vaguely of marcus, somehow calming him just a bit. 

“So…Frank told me how you guys met,” Ray said. “That had to be scary for you, huh?”

Gerard looked from the man to his new Master, seeking permission to speak. This situation was entirely new to him and he no longer had any certainty at all about what was about to happen to him. Was he going to be taken? Was he about to be traded? Was _this_ his real Master and was this other guy, this _Frank_ person, was he just another slave? What if Ray had sent Frank to buy him a new slave? 

“Just leave him alone. _Please,_ ” gerard’s Master insisted. 

“Has he said anything to you?” Ray asked, stepping away from the bed. Gerard watched them both nervously, fisting his hands in the blankets around him as if they could somehow keep him safe. 

“Yes. He can talk; he’s just scared. Now come on—you’re stressing him out. Leave him alone.”

Ray looked gerard over one last time, then smiled at him waved goodbye as he backed out of the room. Gerard’s new Master stayed behind a moment and neared the bed, causing gerard to stiffen in fear even when the man just started straightening the blankets.

“I’m sorry about him. He just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to kill me or something. He—he’s paranoid. I’m sorry if he scared you… Sweet Pea is home now, but I’ll keep her out of the bedroom so you can rest, okay?” Master started rubbing gerard’s shoulder gently, showing no signs that he was going to leave. Gerard knew he had to say something to the man, but couldn’t think of what. 

After a moment of stammering he managed a soft, “Is he my master, too, Master?”

“What?—Oh! No. You don’t have a master anymore. I’m not a master. We’re just friends—we’re going to be your friends.”

Gerard shook his head immediately. He didn’t like that idea. It was too foreign to him and most of his mind fought to resist the idea. Gerard was a slave, and slaves got sold to Masters. There were no friends apart from other slaves. Friends were for people in the outside world—people like Masters. Gerard refused to let himself even _think_ that he had somehow slipped out of the trafficking ring and into the normal world. 

Thoughts like that were dangerous. Thoughts like that made him think about _before,_ and nothing good ever came from remembering those days. Nothing.

“You’re safe now… You don’t have to be scared. I _promise_ we’re not going to hurt you.”

“Okay, Master,” gerard whispered. 

“Please, call me Frank. I’m not a master.”

“Okay, Master,” gerard repeated, his voice cracking with tears. He couldn’t fulfill that request. He couldn’t let himself fall victim to the cruel ploy. He wasn’t going to let himself be duped into thinking he had freedom just so his Master could relish in his anguish when that freedom was taken away. 

( ) ( ) ( )

His new Master had left him—left him alone with that _rat._ He’d gone to work and left a note on the kitchen counter that told when he’d come back, but that did nothing to calm gerard’s nerves. The only times he’d ever been on his own were when his Masters would lock him up in the basement or spare room as punishment—and even then there was someone in the home who knew him. Here, gerard knew no one and no one knew him… He was a stranger in this foreign place and the only man he knew had gone away.

Gone away and left him with the tiny, wretched little wiry hairball called _Sweet Pea._

The moment it laid eyes on him it started barking and never stopped. It growled at him and terrorized him, yet his new Master insisted she was a “nice” dog, a “good dog.”

Gerard imagined killing the little creature, but knew it would probably result in torture for himself. No matter how much he hated it here and feared what was to come, he didn’t want to die. Masters delivered painful deaths and he’d already had his share of agony underneath the Bad Man. 

Once his Master had gone, gerard slowly began to move through the tiny apartment. Master had put the rat into a pin which sat next to the couch so gerard made certain to avoid that area at all costs. Whenever it laid eyes on him, it started barking in its high-pitched, throaty voice. Even though it was an animal gerard could easily crush with his foot or a frying pan, it still terrified him whenever it started making noise. 

Not sure what to do with himself or what his new Master expected of him, gerard started cleaning up the bedroom. He began by picking up the discarded clothes and putting away the folded laundry that was sitting in the hamper. He made the bed and dusted the top of the dresser and the bed’s headboard, then swept up the floor on his hands and knees with a small hand-broom he found under the kitchen sink. 

When he reached the bed again, he started to sweep underneath it—pulling out the large suitcases underneath.

That was when he realized that it wasn’t luggage under the bed but rather cases for instruments—for guitars. 

There were three under the bed and gerard stared at them a long time before daring to open one. He knew it was immensely inappropriate to snoop through his new Master’s things, but he was curious about the man. He knew nothing about him at all except that he had a fondness for dogs that looked like rats.

Inside each of the cases were an electric guitar—one a bright, pristine white with black stickers tainting it, one red and white, and the third was a deep green. Gerard liked that one best, but wouldn’t allow himself to reach out to touch a single part of it—not the paint, not a string, not even the little keys at the top of its neck. He was too afraid that he’d ruin it and end this new Master’s streak of kindness.

After a while he forced himself to close the cases and slide them back into place after cleaning away all the dust on them. With the bedroom done, he moved on to the kitchen. 

At lunch time he really wanted to make himself a snack—Master always let him and the others eat at twelve o’clock—but he didn’t have permission. The hunger pains made him nauseous and he sat on the floor wishing he could just get a drink of _water_ without feeling so anxious. 

He laid down on the floor after washing the kitchen counters, sighing as the cool tile chilled his flushed skin. When he closed his eyes, he imagined himself drifting off—going back to his True Master’s place with marcus. He imagined marcus would hold him and cook for him…

Then his new Master’s neighbors started yelling.

Gerard’s eyes snapped open and he sat up, instinctively shuffling back against the cupboards. He heard someone get smacked and fear rocketed through him as the yelling grew louder.

“M-Master?” Gerard whimpered, pulling his knees to his chest for protection. The little dog started barking and gerard covered his ears, trying to block out the sound. 

The man who was yelling continued to boom and bellow—going on and on about a late payment. There was another smack, a crash, a loud thud then the smashing of something which sounded like glass. 

Gerard sobbed and pressed his eyes against his knees. The man was screaming, the woman was crying, the dog kept barking and barking and _barking._

“Sweetheart?—Hey! Hey, what’s the matter?”

Gerard flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder, smacking his head against the cupboard. His new Master was there, looking at him with concern.

“What’s the matter? Did you hurt yourself?”

“M-Master?” Gerard stammered, reaching for the man and wrapping his arms around him—clutching onto him for dear life. 

“What? What, Sweetheart? What’s going on?” His Master rubbed his back and shushed, showing him a gentleness that only marcus ever did. Gerard was so confused by this new man… Why didn’t he act like a Master? 

This man, this strange man, just let gerard cling to him and cry into his chest. He didn’t hit him or command him to stop or yell at him for scaring the tiny dog. 

“It’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you. Nothing’s gonna happen… Do you want to go lay down? You’re shaking. Come on—let’s put you to bed. Come on.” The man pulled gerard up from the floor and guided him toward the bedroom.

Gerard wanted to fight him, knowing what was going to happen to him as soon as his back hit the mattress. It scared him, it made him sick to his stomach, but this Master seemed so kind…maybe it wasn’t going to hurt. Maybe it would be gentle and slow.

It would go better if gerard reciprocated. All Masters wanted was to feel loved and needed (as well as completely in control). If gerard pretended he needed this man the way he needed his True Master, maybe life here wouldn’t be so terrible.

So when he was sat down on the bed, gerard leaned up and kissed his Master on the lips. It didn’t last long at all and his new Master pulled away quickly, raising his fingers to his lips in surprise. Gerard sat on the bed watching him, nervous since the man didn’t kiss him back or seem interested at all in his affection. 

“I-I just have a little bit of time before I have to go to my other job… Um—I brought you some food from the diner so…so you can eat that when you’re feeling better.”

There was a loud crash next door and gerard ducked his head again, shaking despite the blankets he wound around his shoulders. 

“I’ll call the landlord about them. I’ll make it stop,” the man said, walking away from the bed without giving gerard any more attention. 

Gerard whimpered at the man’s absence, not wanting to be alone after being by himself so long. He heard his Master speaking to someone, presumably on his phone with the landlord like he said. Not long after, he returned to the bedroom with a glass of water and sat on the bed next to gerard.

“The landlord said he’d talk to them later tonight when things calm down,” Master said. “I know it’s scary, but they can’t hurt you. No one’s going to hurt you… Did you _clean_ in here?”

“I-I did my ch-chores, Master,” gerard stammered. 

“Chores?—No, you don’t have chores here. You were supposed to be relaxing.”

“I’m sorry,” gerard mumbled, staring at the man as the cup of water was forced into his hand. 

“Don’t be sorry. I just don’t want you to think you have to clean up the place. I know it’s a mess, but… Well, anyway, I’m going to take Sweet Pea around the block. I’ll be back in a few minutes. You just get some rest.”

Gerard whimpered as his Master got up from the bed and left him alone again. He didn’t even get a kiss goodbye. All he got was a glass of water and the promise that _eventually_ the couple next door would cease fighting and leave him in peace.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank woke up to the sound of dishes clattering. Sweet Pea, too, was roused by the noise and stood up on the bed, letting out an undignified snort. Frank called her up to him and pulled her close once she was within reach, keeping her still as he listened for more sounds outside his bedroom. 

A quick glance at the clock showed that it was half an hour before he had to be up to get himself ready for work—far too early for his guest to be up. Though apparently he was.

Frank slowly got out of his bed, holding Sweet Pea to his chest. He stepped over to his bedroom door and opened it just enough to peer out.

The light over the kitchenette was on and he could see the man’s shadow cast across the floor. More dishes were clinking and Frank could hear something sizzling as though it were being cooked in a pan. 

“What is he doing?” Frank whispered to himself, stepping out of his room and going toward the kitchen area. The man was shuffling back and forth between the oven and the counter—whisking something together while frying something else in a pan. Frank stood back a few paces and watched him quietly for a moment. 

He was making breakfast… He was making breakfast for Frank before he had to go to work.

“Hey—Good morning,” Frank called, cringing when his friendly greeting caused the man to flinch. “What are you making?”

After stammering and choking on every word, the man whispered that he was trying to fix pancakes and scrambled egg substitute. 

“You didn’t have to do this for me,” Frank said, holding Sweet Pea with one arm so he could put a comforting hand on his guest’s shoulder. 

“D-Didn’t… Didn’t make anything… I-I didn’t make you anything yesterday and…felt bad about it,” the man mumbled.

“You don’t have to feel bad. I’ve been making myself breakfast for, like, five years.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, Sir. I-I’ll be quieter tomorrow.”

“I don’t work the morning shift tomorrow. Just my night job,” Frank said, offering the man a smile. 

“I’ll have dinner ready when you get—”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’ll bring home food from the diner.” 

The man looked a bit disheartened as he returned his focus to the meal he was fixing. He’d been in Frank’s apartment for two days yet he still hadn’t seemed to warm up to Frank at all. He wouldn’t even tell Frank his name or anything about himself. All he would do was sit and stare ahead of him or try cleaning up the apartment. 

After Frank left him alone the first time, the man had completely cleaned the kitchen—even going so far as to reorganize and scrub the refrigerator. He’d put together a cluster of expired products Frank didn’t even know he’d had left in the fridge and waited for Frank to get home to ask permission to throw them out, too. The cupboards had been cleaned and organized—expired products separated as well—all the dishes and sink washed. Counters washed. 

It was spotless yet the man trembled the whole time Frank stared at it in shock. He kept whispering that he’d missed a task or ran out of time, but the kitchenette was cleaner than it had been when Frank bought the place. 

Frank couldn’t stand that the man felt he had to spend his day cleaning the place—unnerved by the fact that he was choosing to act like a slave even though Frank reassured him of his freedom every chance he got. He’d tried and tried to get the man to say a name or any personal information at all, but he refused. When the police were mentioned, he’d had a panic attack and ended up laying on the bathroom floor for two hours. His reaction had been so violent that Frank worried it had been a police officer who had owned him in the past. Maybe he was afraid his “master” would get him back and torture him for trying to leave the lifestyle he’d been forced into.

“I’m going to get showered, then I’ll come help you cook, okay?” Frank asked, setting Sweet Pea down on the floor. He didn’t wait for the man’s reply—knowing already that it would be along the lines of ‘no, sir, you don’t need to worry about helping me.’

When he got back out of the shower, he was met with a plate of food on the table and an empty glass as though the man didn’t know whether to pour Frank water or some of the soy milk in the fridge. 

“Aren’t you eating anything?” Frank asked, looking from the table set for one to the messy kitchen counter. There wasn’t a plate at all made for the man, but Sweet Pea was happily scarfing down a bowl of kibble. “Did you mix that with the soft food?—She can’t eat just dry kibble. Her teeth are bad.” Frank said, hurrying over to Sweet Pea and picking her up despite the frustrated growl she gave him.

“I-I… I d-did it just like y-you did yesterday,” the man stammered, his face suddenly going very pale. 

Frank filled with guilt when he saw that the food was mixed just as his precious baby needed. He felt bad that he’d scared the man over nothing.

“D-Didn’t I do it right, Master? I tried to do it just like you did. I-I tried.”

“It’s perfect,” Frank said, setting Sweet Pea down and letting her go back to her meal. “Thank you. Are you… Are you going to eat anything?”

“I had…some eggs,” the man whispered, looking down as he spoke as if he were admitting to some crime. 

“Didn’t you make yourself any pancakes?” Frank asked as he sat down at his small table. 

“No, Master.”

“Well then come take one of mine. Come on—get a plate, come sit over here, and eat with me.”

The man stared at him, almost looking hurt, then grabbed a plate and followed Frank’s commands. Using his fork and knife, Frank lifted one of the three pancakes on his plate and dropped it onto his guest’s once he set it down on the table. He then cut his second pancake in half and gave one of the pieces to the man as well along with a couple scoops of the scrambled egg substitute—just to be sure he did get some protein in case he’d been bluffing about eating some on his own. 

“So… I only work the night shift tomorrow,” Frank said, watching as the man nervously began to eat. “I was thinking, in the afternoon, I’d go out grocery shopping.”

“If I knew what you’d like, I-I could make a list for you, Master. You know, o-of the things you need.”

“You don’t have to call me master. We’ve been through this. My name’s Frank. Just call me Frank. Alright?”

The man set down his fork and bowed his head before whispering a brief, “Yes, sir.” Frank wanted to tell him to keep eating, that there was nothing to get upset over, but he understood what this man had been put through. He had every right to be terrified of Frank. There was no way kind words would be all it took to calm his fears. 

Frank had nightmares about the auction house—he couldn’t even begin to imagine what horrors kept his house guest up at night, or played in his mind when Frank spoke to him.

“I was thinking maybe you could come with me to the store.”

“N-No—No, Sir, I-I stay in the house. I keep it c-clean! I don’t need to go.”

“You’ve got to go out some time. It’s not healthy to stay cooped up inside all the time.”

“Sir, I don’t _go_ outside!” 

“I think it’s time you started going outside. How about you come with me when I take Sweet Pea on her walk today? We won’t go far. Just a block or two—get you used to it.”

Frank could see how badly the man wanted to argue, but he didn’t say anything more. He lowered his head and started to eat, his hands shaking as he cut into his pancakes. 

“Can I ask you something?” Frank said before taking a bite of eggs. 

“Of course, Master,” the man said, sounding sad rather than approving. 

“I see you like to draw. Do you like anything else?—Do you have other hobbies?”

The man spoke quietly about drawing and writing as he ate his breakfast. He got caught up in a story about drawing portraits of Marcus, and didn’t seem to notice when Frank stood up from the table and poured them both a glass of soy milk. Whenever he spoke about Marcus, his entire demeanor changed. It made him happy to remember his friend. Frank felt so awful that there was nothing he could do to reunite them or save that man from the horrors he had to be going through. What if their master killed him or sold him? He could die and no one would ever know.

Perhaps that was what disturbed Frank the most. All those people he’d seen bought and sold—and the hundreds of thousands like them he didn’t see—had families who didn’t know what had happened to them. Maybe some had been sold by their parents or relatives, or maybe some had no family left, but there were so many more people wondering what happened to their loved ones. 

“I really miss Marcus,” the man said as finished his breakfast. “I wish I could’ve at least kissed him goodbye. Just… Just a kiss, Master. Nothing—nothing serious.” 

“I keep telling you to call me Frank.” He smiled as he said it, but it did nothing to calm his guest’s nerves. Once the man noticed he’d finished his meal, he stood up and collected their plates and glasses. “You should put some shoes on so we can take Sweet Pea on her walk.”

“N-No. S-Sir, I have to do dishes.”

“No. The dishes can wait. Let’s go on our walk.” Frank smiled at Sweet Pea as he said it, enjoying the way her little eyes got big at the mention of her second favorite word (her first, of course, being ‘treat’). If only his guest could feel the same as his pet. The man, however, looked so haunted by the prospect of being outside—being free.


	13. Where Boundaries are Tested

It was too loud. It was too cold. There was too much going on—too much gerard couldn’t see happening—outside on the streets. He felt as if all the people rushing past in cars were watching him. They were spies sent by his Master, sent by his _Trainer,_ to keep tabs on him. There was too much noise outside, far too much noise. Blaring horns and car radios, people talking, walking around in clicking heels, dogs howling and yapping. 

Gerard’s heart was pounding so hard by the time they reached the first corner of the block he was certain those around him could hear it over all the chaotic sounds. He wanted to turn and run back to his Master’s apartment, but whenever he would whip around, the man would grab his sleeve and pull him forward. 

By the halfway point of their walk, gerard was shaking and standing as close to his Master as he possibly could seeking protection and warmth. Every time the little rat would stop to squat in the small patches of grass, gerard felt like he was going to faint. Standing sill made him feel that much more vulnerable and his new Master just didn’t understand. 

Why didn’t he understand how terrifying it was on the street, in the open, in view of all the wicked men in the world?

When they got back to the apartment, gerard seated himself on the couch and cried. He was praying his Master never made him go through that awful ordeal ever again, but he knew he would never be so lucky. He’d started talking about the grocery store and taking gerard shopping with him. The walk around the block wasn’t torture enough. He wanted gerard trapped in a building full of strangers—a place just like the auction house but with items for sale instead of slaves. 

“Hey… I made you some tea. Are you okay?” 

Gerard accepted the cup his Master offered him out of habit rather than desire, but didn’t take a sip.

“I know it has to make you nervous being out there, but you have to get used to it. You can’t stay in here forever, you know?” His voice was gentle, but gerard couldn’t be soothed. There was a coldness in his veins that he just couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. The outside world wasn’t meant for slaves like him. He was trained to be isolated and to appreciate solitude. He was used to seeing only a handful of faces and knew them all by name. The crowded city streets were not at all welcoming to him. There was too much uncertainty and chaos—no regulations or rules or a routine for him to follow. “It’s going to be okay, you know? No one’s going to hurt you out there. Especially not when you’re with me.” 

His Master kept trying to be reassuring, but gerard just turned away from him to hide his tears. He took a sip of the scalding hot tea, then lowered the cup to his lap and stared at the dark liquid. 

“Look… I know you’re scared. You have every reason to be afraid of me and to be nervous. I get it. But you can’t just stay in my apartment forever. Eventually, I’m going to have to get you home. I just want to wait a bit until I know you’re…you’re in a better place first. You have to try getting used to more things, though… To get you to that better place.”

Better place? What the hell was he talking about?—And _home?_ That sounded even worse! Gerard didn’t know what to make of it. Was he talking about selling him to someone else? That’s what it sounded like. He bought gerard from the worst of Masters and now was trying to desensitize him so he would better fit the needs of some other man. 

But what man? His “friend” Ray? A stranger?

Gerard _hated_ this. It made him so angry that he couldn’t figure out what was going on. How could his Master do this to him? It was crueler than any punishment. The uncertainty was torture. He would’ve preferred to have a regular Master who beat him and kept him locked away than _this._ At least then he’d know what to expect. 

“Where do you want me to go, Master?” Gerard asked.

“Home,” his Master said.

“I don’t know what that means,” gerard said with a soft whine. He didn’t want attacked for being argumentative, but he just wanted to understand. 

“Home. It means _home._ Like…with your family.”

Gerard shook his head and scooted over on the couch, away from his Master. He couldn’t go home. He _couldn’t_ go home. He had no home—no family that would want him. His old Master would find him there—or his _Trainer._ Home wasn’t safe! Home was even more dangerous than the auction house or the streets!

He couldn’t even bring himself to think about it.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank couldn’t figure it out. He tried and tried to make sense of it all when he’s at work, but the issue kept eluding him. It had been seven days since he’d taken in the slave and he still knew nothing about him He couldn’t get a name or an age—not anything. If he pushed too hard, the man would either sink in on himself and go quiet or start crying. He was clearly upset, but Frank didn’t know what to do to help him. 

Even so, Frank knew _something_ had to be done. He couldn’t go on like this. He was exhausted now more than ever and trying to afford to feed himself and his new guest was proving difficult. Once he finally got the man comfortable enough in his home to eat, that’s all the man seemed to want to do. 

“Master, can I eat this? Master, I can I have this? Master, are you going to eat this?” On and on and on. Frank was happy he was getting more at home, but he almost wished the man would go back to being afraid to make demands. As soon as he realized Frank wasn’t going to hurt him, he made constant requests that he learned Frank hadn’t the nerve to turn down. 

He’d even taken to sleeping in Frank’s _bed_ at night, keeping him awake.

He felt so trapped. All he wanted was to help this guy out, but that was almost proving impossible. If he turned him over to the police, he could very well get arrested himself no matter how good his intentions had been. If he kept him though…that just made things look worse and worse for him when the authorities finally did get involved. 

Plus the guy didn’t _want_ helped. He was content to play the part of a servant. He was _happy_ to clean the house when Frank was gone, seemed pleased to call him “master” and “sir” every time he spoke. 

Frank just didn’t know what to _do._ Any attempts he made to rehabilitate this man ended in failure. He’d have panic attacks every time Frank made him go with him on Sweet Pea’s walks and would hide in the bedroom whenever Ray came over to visit.

And keeping Ray quiet about the subject proved difficult as well. He was adamant about Frank turning the man over to the police before they found out about him on their own, but at the same time would agree that it was a risky move as well. Keeping him for more than twenty-four hours without reporting it already made him look guilty. 

Frank was well and truly fucked…

“You look tired,” the hostess said as she watched Frank clear his table. 

“Yeah my…dog has been keeping me up at night.”

“Sweet Pea? Just lock her out of the bedroom,” the hostess said.

“She’d just scratch at the door until I let her in,” Frank said. It was essentially true. If he told his guest to stay on the couch, he would wake up with the man beside him anyway. The guy had no understanding of personal boundaries whatsoever and telling him ‘you sleeping here makes me uncomfortable’ just seemed to make him confused. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, but you look like death warmed up. It’s scaring the customers.”

“Well as long as no one complains to the owner, we should be fine,” Frank said, wishing the girl would get away from him. He was in no mood to discuss his problems with her or anyone else. He was already getting enough of Ray’s unwelcome opinion.

Something needed to be done about his guest… _Something._

If only he could get a name out of the guy. Maybe he could find his family and just…drop him off on their doorstep or something. Something that wouldn’t lead to him getting arrested and losing his job. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard could get used to this. In fact, apart from the pain in his chest that came from constantly missing his Master and missing marcus, gerard rather liked living here. The small apartment started to work wonders on his awful anxiety since he could see and hear everything that went on without having to move too far through the space. The neighbors who yelled had gotten evicted, Master had said, and now the place was almost peacefully quiet. There was the occasional loud television or radio, a bout of laughter or playful shrieking here or there, but it was nice. He got used to it. 

His new Master was also something of a pushover. He wasn’t much of a Master at all and once the newness wore off, gerard found that pleasant as well. He could miss areas when cleaning and Master never noticed—and because there were no other whores to keep him company, there was no one to rat him out on skipping toilet cleaning day. It irritated him that he couldn’t do laundry as often as he’d like, but after being forced to go the crowded complex laundry room, gerard quit complaining. He didn’t like that dingy, smelly room and longed for his true Master’s pristine, upstairs laundry closet. He never had to carry a basket of clothing down a flight of stairs in his life let alone down _three._ How could his new Master live like this?

Because he was _poor,_ gerard realized. Master was poor… He didn’t like that, but he was happy the man didn’t use gerard to generate more income. 

Oddly…

Oddly, gerard’s new Master seemed to have no interest in using him at all. At first he distrusted it, then he grew comfortable with it, but after two weeks he was starting to get frustrated with it. He liked his new Master. He was quiet and kind, always brushed away gerard’s tears after nightmare, and never showed any anger no matter what gerard did wrong. He was gentle. It was different and reminded gerard a lot of marcus. He didn’t trust his Master yet, especially not when he invited his friend over, but he liked him. He liked him better than Trainer and much better than Adam. 

Gerard tried to show his Master he was okay with taking things further in case the man was scared gerard would resist him and draw the attention of his neighbors, but the man _always_ turned him down. He didn’t seem to want gerard in bed with him at all, but the bed was far more comfortable than that godawful couch and gerard refused to sleep anywhere other than at his Master’s side. It was his _rightful_ place. 

He had to get used to sharing it with the rat, but they could all fit and he was tired of his new Master resisting him. 

After finishing his rounds, gerard sank down on the floor at the foot of the couch, staring at the blank television screen as he waited for Master to come home. He had permission to watch TV if he wanted, but he really had no interest in any of the daytime programing he’d seen on the days he did try. 

It was boring here without anyone for company. Anyone besides the rat. His Master kept it in a crate when he went to work to stop her from peeing all over the house, but told gerard he was free to take her downstairs if he wanted to walk her. He’d even gotten a spare key to the apartment door.

Gerard left it on the counter where Master had set it the very day he brought it home. He’d never had a Master give him a key before and he was worried that it might be a trick of some sort. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he was actually allowed to leave. 

Another two hours passed before Master came home, and after hugging him and kissing his cheek (because kisses on the lips were disallowed), gerard asked if he was allowed to use the bathroom. No matter how many times the man scolded him and told him it was fine to go “whenever,” gerard just couldn’t believe it. He felt sick with worry and guilt whenever he’d try in his Master’s absence (unless it was a serious emergency and he really couldn’t help himself). He wanted to be obedient for this man. He respected him.

He respected his new Master too much to let all of his training slip away. 

Gerard wished there was another task for him to complete as he waited for Master to return. He only worked his daytime job today and that meant he would bring home lunch so gerard really had nothing left to do. He couldn’t cook a meal because it would just go to waste. He had to sit there, bored, and wait. 

Minutes ticked by like hours until _finally,_ gerard heart the door lock rattle and his Master was home. Gerard leapt up from the floor and rushed to his Master, hugging him tight and kissing his cheek in greeting.

“Yeah, hi—back up. You’re crushing me.”

Always the same. His new Master was so predictable. 

Gerard did as he was told and backed up after taking the bag of boxed up food from the diner from his Master’s hand. He set it down on the counter while his Master grabbed the rat’s leash from its place beside the door. Immediately, the little dog began yapping and banging against the wire of its cage until Master let it out and hooked it to the leash.

“Come on. We’re taking her around the block.”

“I can stay here and heat up our lunch, Master.”

“No. We’re taking Sweet Pea for her walk. Come on.” 

Gerard groaned, but obeyed. He couldn’t argue—Well… He _could._ This Master put up with a lot of backtalk, but it never got gerard anywhere. He still always lost the arguments. Master was stubborn… All Masters were stubborn.

He was forced to put on one of Master’s coats and go downstairs with him and the little dog. He was getting used to being on the streets again, but he still hated all the open space and strangers. He learned that if he just kept his head down, no one would bother him. A lot of people said hello to his Master though—a lot of them knew him and his little rat by name. A pretty blonde girl always stooped down to pet the filthy animal whenever she walked past them on her way home—or to work—and made small talk with Master. 

Gerard hated that the most. She liked his Master but gerard didn’t like her. He tried to get his Master’s attention away from her when he could, but standing closer and closer just seemed to get on his Master’s nerves and the man would step away from him or send him a firm glare. Gerard usually backed down at that point, but once he’d dared to scowl back at him and that had gotten him yelled at when they got home.

Well… Not really “yelled” at. His new Master never raised his voice, but he did adopt a firm tone that gerard didn’t care for at all. It filled him with shame and embarrassment, and he would duck his head and apologize for causing a scene. 

Gerard just couldn’t help it though. This was _his_ Master. He didn’t want to share. If that pretty girl started making a move, what was Master going to do with gerard? He was not going to be replaced again. Not this fast. He just got here and he would sooner suffer a beating than let his new Master replace him just like his last Master had.

Gerard behaved during Sweet Pea’s walk, mostly because the blonde woman didn’t make an appearance. When they got back into the apartment, gerard was quick to prepare their meals—well, plate them considering they were already finished. It made him excited when he saw that one of the sandwiches actually had meat on it—knowing it was just for him. His new Master didn’t eat animals. He was too kind and gentle. He’d made gerard watch a video online of cruelty faced by beef cattle, but it was hard for gerard to feel sympathy for them. Yes it was sad they were mistreated, but at least their suffering ended. Gerard had been kicked before and lashed and pushed around. He understood that it hurt, but…

Maybe he was just cruel because the videos didn’t move him. He wanted his steak and marinated chicken breasts and all the good things marcus used to make for dinner. It pleased him to no end that he’d won the battle and his new Master gave him what he _wanted_ to eat. 

It was a burger—a delicious, meaty, cheeseburger with everything on it. Lettuce, tomato, mayonnaise and ketchup! Gerard couldn’t help but smile at his Master who rolled his eyes as he took his vegetable wrap over to the table and sat down. Gerard brought him a glass of water, then sat down across from him to eat. 

“Thank you, Master,” gerard said happily, torn between smiling at his Master and smiling at his burger. 

“You’re welcome,” the man said, his voice a soft grumble. “I figured you’d like it.”

Gerard fit as much of the sandwich into his mouth as he could, elated by the taste. Meat! Real meat! He didn’t know how much he’d missed it until he finally got it back. 

“Maybe I should’ve gotten two,” Master said, looking at gerard with surprise. Gerard knew his table manners were lacking, but he couldn’t help himself. (And why should he have to? This Master never struck him so why bother to be on his very best behavior all the time?) “So… Ray is coming over again tonight. We’re going to play X Box. Have you ever…played X Box?”

Video games? Why did this man think he was so dumb as to never have heard of video games? It was borderline offensive to him, but gerard just shrugged and continued stuffing his face with the burger. He couldn’t even be bothered by the prospect of company coming over. Not when he had such good food to keep him occupied. That was why he had it, after all. The burger was a bribe for good behavior when Ray came over. 

“Yes, Master. A long time ago.”

“Oh. You had one when…when you were a kid?”

Always trying to pry. He was such a nosy man. None of his other Masters bothered to ask him anything about his life before, but that was all his new Master wanted to know. Where did he come from? What was his name? Did he have a family? Siblings? A two-story house and white picket fence waiting for him? He didn’t understand that his family wouldn’t want him back… He was filthy now. If his family was even still alive, they would be disgusted by him. Couldn’t his Master understand that?

“A friend had one,” gerard said, trying to hold on to the happiness he’d gotten from his sandwich. Unfortunately, no good taste was making up for the pain in his chest caused by the memories. He set down his burger and picked at the French fries which had come with it. 

He felt sick to his stomach now and could barely bring himself to swallow the fried potatoes. 

“Why don’t you want to go home?” His Master asked, rather suddenly

“This is home, Master,” gerard mumbled. 

“No, this is _my_ home. I know you came from somewhere. Why don’t you want to tell me?”

Gerard chose not to answer. His Master would never understand. He was obviously a novice owner and didn’t understand that he couldn’t just ask things like that… 

“Still not going to tell me…”

“I’m sorry, Master,” gerard whispered, staring down at his plate. He didn’t want food anymore and he didn’t want guests over tonight. Now all he wanted was to sleep…or vacuum. God, he wished his Master owned a vacuum cleaner.

“I’ve told you over and over you don’t have to call me that. My name is _Frank._ Call me _Frank._ Can you do that for me?”

Gerard looked up at him sadly, wanting to prove he was listening even though he couldn’t obey the command. His Master was getting angry with him and there was nothing he could do. 

It scared him more when his Master was upset at him when company was coming over than any other time. He didn’t know what strangers were capable of doing to him, but knew well what could happen when two men laid into him at once. What if his kind Master turned into a vicious Master when he had someone else cheering him on? 

“Why won’t you just call me Frank? It’s my name. I _want_ you to call me Frank.”

“No, Master,” gerard said, standing from the table and slipping the remaining half of his burger and fries into the Styrofoam box they’d come in. After placing them in the refrigerator, gerard shut himself up in the bedroom to hide. If his Master wanted him, he’d come pull him out and make him sit on the couch. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank couldn’t relax, even with Ray’s company. His guest had yet to come out of the bedroom and asking him hadn’t provoked any response. He’d hoped they could all play games together and work on the man’s social skills, but he had no interest in being sociable and seemed afraid of Ray. He could understand that though. Ray was tall and that could be seen as intimidating despite his gentle voice.

“I think I’m gonna order a pizza for you if you don’t hurry up,” Ray said, clicking buttons on the controller and never once taking his eyes off the screen.

“Go ahead.”

“Fine. I’ll make it a meat lovers.”

“That’s fine. He’ll eat it,” Frank said, gesturing toward the bedroom doorway. 

“Do you even _want_ pizza?”

“I can’t afford it right now, if you want me to be honest. That guy eats like crazy.”

“He’s probably starving. He looked really skinny when you got him.”

“Yeah… He’s starting to look a little better. His eyes aren’t all bloodshot and dark anymore.”

“So don’t you think it’s about time then?” Ray asked, pausing the game and taking his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Time for what?—What are you doing?” 

“Ordering pizza. I can buy this time, but you owe me when you finally get this guy out of your apartment.”

“I don’t think I’m _ever_ getting him out of my apartment,” Frank mumbled.

“You’d better—otherwise the cops are going to find out and you’re going to end up spending thirteen years in prison with some burly dude who wants to call you princess.”

“Can we keep the rape jokes to a minimum? He _can_ hear you, you know?”

“He’s asleep,” Ray said, even though he couldn’t possibly know that. “I’m getting a meat lovers. You want your spinach and whatnot? My app remembers how you get it.”

“I’m fine. I’ve got pasta in the cupboard.”

“Spinach and whatnot it is,” Ray said.

“Ray! I’m fine. You don’t have to buy me food.”

“It’s fine, Frank. I got my bonus check last week. And I’ve got a coupon. Two specialty pizzas for six ninety-nine each.”

“So I owe you seven bucks plus delivery and tip,” Frank muttered. He didn’t like Ray buying him food out of pity. He could take care of himself. He’d spent the past few years proving he could take care of himself. 

“Shut up. I’m not the one trying to support a wife and kids.”

“Wife and kids?—What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Your _wife,”_ Ray said, gesturing toward the bedroom. “And kid.” He added, waving his hand toward Sweet Pea who was sleeping on her back by the foot of the couch, showing off her bloated, pink belly. 

“Come on. That’s offensive. He’s not my wife—”

“Really? Because he cleans the place for you, makes you dinner, and looks after your dog when you’re out. And you obviously like him or else you would’ve taken him to the police by now.”

“I haven’t taken him to the cops because I haven’t had the time!”

“You have time right now, but what are you doing? Playing video games while he’s asleep in your bed. Don’t act like I’m dumb. I know what’s going on here.”

“Nothing’s going on! I can’t even get a name out of him and he _knows_ me. What do you think is going to happen if I hand him over to the cops? They’re going to interrogate him, scare him, and put him in a halfway house or homeless shelter _if he’s lucky._ He’s not a kid. They’re not going to give two shits about him if he doesn’t cooperate.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Ray said, setting his phone down after submitting his order. 

They resumed their game until the pizza arrived, and while Ray went to answer the knock at the door, Frank went back to his bedroom to check on his guest. As he expected, the man was sitting up in the bed with the blankets pulled tightly around himself, looking fearful. Terrified.

“Ray ordered us some pizza. You can come out if you want some. You can’t eat it in my bed though.” 

The man continued to stare at him until Frank left the room and closed the door behind him. Ray was already in the kitchen dishing out slices of pizza onto a paper plate even though the meat lovers box was his alone. Frank took his spinach, mushroom, and pepper pizza over to his coffee table along with a handful of napkins and dug in—forgetting how good pizza could be when he didn’t have to be the one paying for it.

Shortly after Ray sat back down on the couch as well, the bedroom door cracked open and Frank’s guest came creeping out. Ray looked at him and nodded but didn’t speak to him—his mouth too full of pizza to form words—then turned his focus back to the TV where their game rested on pause.

“You want to watch a movie while we eat?” Frank asked, earning a nod from Ray. He thought to ask his guest if there was something he wanted to watch, but knew it would be a fruitless effort. 

They found a crappy sci-fi movie and put it on while Frank’s guest picked at the box of pizza left on the kitchenette counter. He seemed to be displeased with that offering as he came over and sat on the floor by Frank’s feet, almost squashing Sweet Pea in the process. 

“What can I have, Master?” He asked in a voice so quiet Frank barely heard it over the roaring mutants on his television screen. 

“Whatever you want. Here—try some of mine.” Frank leaned forward to grab a piece of pizza out of the box in order to hand it to his guest, but when he shifted his own slice of pizza from his right to left hand, the man leaned over and took a bite from the slice he’d already been eating. “Whoa—Um… Not what I… Not what I meant.” Frank looked at his guest in confusion, put off by how indifferent the man appeared. He acted as though he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, then graciously accepted the half-eaten slice of pizza when Frank handed it to him. 

He swallowed down the pizza in a matter of seconds, then stole yet another slice from Frank’s hand. 

This time Ray caught the exchange and passed them both a weirded out glance that the man responded to with an almost cold glare. This happened several more times, the man trying to eat every piece of pizza Frank tried to claim for himself. He didn’t understand what the hell was going on, but telling the man to eat his own piece of pizza was proving vastly unsuccessful. He didn’t want his own, he wanted Frank’s.

Then he wanted to sit on the couch next to Frank, then wanted to rest his head on Frank’s shoulder.

“Can you—can you not? What are you doing?” Frank asked, leaning away from the man who had suddenly become so affectionate. Typically he didn’t want touched except at night when he was trying to get enough comfort to sleep through his bad dreams. Now, with a bit of meat in his stomach and company over, he wanted all of Frank’s attention he could get.

“I missed you today, Master,” the man said, looking at _Ray_ when he said—scowling at Ray as he said it. 

“Um… I’ve told you not to call me that. Can you back off a little? Please?”

The man sighed and slid over just an inch, barely giving Frank any space at all. 

“Can I get you anything, Master? Water? Coffee?”

“No—space. Give me space,” Frank said, rather firmly. 

Ray was looking at him with nearly horrified confusion, visibly put off by the exchange. Frank didn’t understand what was going on since his guest had never acted this way before, not ever. He could be needy, but never like _this._ He was acting like a combination of the most obnoxious girlfriend in the world and an affectionate puppy—only he was old enough to know better than to behave like that.

“Can I get coffee, Master?”

“Get whatever you want,” Frank snapped, pushing him away when he tried to bury his face in Frank’s neck. “Just stop touching me.”

“Can I get you coffee, Master?” 

_“No.”_

“I… I can make coffee for your friend?—For… For other Master?”

“He’s not your master. You don’t have a master. I keep telling you this, now would you stop!? Please!?”

“Frank… Come on, you don’t have to yell at him,” Ray said. “I’ll have some coffee if you want to make a pot,” he added, smiling at the man who had stood from the couch and backed away. 

“Yes, sir,” the man said, going fast into the kitchen and preparing a filter. 

“I’m sorry, but he’s getting on my nerves,” Frank mumbled to Ray, turning his focus back to the television. “I’ve told him at least a hundred times not to call me master and he keeps doing it.”

“I’m starting to think he’s got something wrong with him, Frank,” Ray said, his voice even softer than Frank’s. 

“There’s nothing _right_ with him.”

“No, I mean… I mean like a disability. I think there’s something mentally…not _right_ with him. Maybe he’s on the autism spectrum or something. He doesn’t seem to understand—”

“Ray, he’s fine. He’s just ‘trained.’”

“And possessive,” Ray added. “He’s acting up because I’m here and he wants all of your attention.”

“Yeah, I figured that much. But what am I supposed to do about it? I can’t… Shit, I can’t do anything.”

“Do you even _like_ this guy?”

“Yeah—Yeah, I like him,” Frank said, his voice a soft whisper as he looked over his shoulder at the man fixing his pot of coffee. “He’s… He’s not _bad._ Usually he’s really sweet and I don’t mind the company, but this… I hate that he won’t listen to me. It’s been two weeks and he still calls me his master.”

“He doesn’t know any better,” Ray said. Frank wished that were true, but he felt more confident in the idea that the man was doing it out of spite. To what end, though, Frank just didn’t know.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard couldn’t help himself. He was just so _mad._ He was trying to prove his loyalty. He was trying to be a good pet, an affectionate pet, and his Master was ruining his every attempt. It agitated him that nothing he did was good enough, and frustrated him even more that his Master was sitting there whispering to his houseguest about him. 

They were bad-talking him. They were saying gerard was stupid, mentally challenged in some way, all because he didn’t act the way they thought he should. 

He could barely repress his anger, and when he started brewing the coffee, he couldn’t fight it anymore. 

How _dare_ this man buy him and then reject his affection? How _dare_ he deny kisses and embraces and any sort of intimacy at all? How _dare_ he!? 

Even so, Gerard kept his face blank as he carried a cup of coffee to his Master’s friend—his _fake_ Master’s friend. He offered the faintest of smiles to the man who thanked him for the mug, then retreated back to the kitchen to pour a cup for his Master even though the man hadn’t requested one. 

“Frank?” He said as he stood before the man.

His Master looked away from the television, and reached out for the coffee cup with an expression of confusion on his face. He’d specifically stated he didn’t want coffee, but now he didn’t argue. Just as his fingers graced the cup, however, he must’ve realized he would have been better to refuse. As soon as his Master touched the cup, gerard let go—allowing the mug full of coffee to spill down onto his unkind Master’s lap. 

The man screamed and flung the cup away, causing it to land with a crash on the floor in front of him, just missing the rat at his feet by a few inches. The little dog yapped and ran away, going to hide in its crate by the television. Tossing the cup did nothing for the coffee already seeping through the fabric of his Master’s jeans. His friend just sat there in shock, scooting away as Master tried to brush the scalding coffee off his legs. 

“What the hell!? What the hell is wrong with you!?” The man screamed, looking up at gerard with pain and anger—but most of all pain. 

“Frank—Frank, he didn’t mean it!” his friend, Ray, started saying. He put a hand on Master’s shoulder, but it was shrugged away 

“Yes he did! Jesus Christ, that fuckin’ hurt!” He got to his feet and that, for whatever reason, caused gerard to shrink back a step. 

Maybe that hadn’t been the best idea. Even if this man was small and typically gentle, he was still a _Master._ And Masters knew how to be cruel…

“What’s wrong with you!? I tried to be nice!—I was _nice_ to you! And this is how you repay me!?”

Gerard ducked his head, tremors starting to overcome his hands and legs. That had been a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. What in the world had he been thinking? Did he _want_ this Master’s kindness to turn into punishments? Did he want locked away and beaten?

“Answer me!”

“Frank, you’re scaring him. Just calm down!”

“I-I’m sorry, Master,” gerard whispered, ducking his head and looking anywhere but at his Master’s angry eyes. 

“You’re sorry? You’re _sorry?”_

_Is that good enough!?_ his Trainer’s voice echoed in his ears. Oh God… Gerard knew what came now. 

“I-I’m so sorry, Master,” gerard repeated, sinking to the floor in submission—begging on his knees for forgiveness. “I-I’ll clean it, Master. P-Please don’t be mad. I’ll fix it!”

“Fix it? You almost burnt Sweet Pea! I’m here trying to be nice to you and you fucking burnt me!” 

“I’m sorry!” Gerard cried, backing away a little more on his knees. He was sorry. He was so sorry. He’d just gotten _mad._

“Alright, Frank—He’s got it? Okay.” Ray had stood up and was pulling Master back by his shoulder. 

“You know what—I don’t want to deal with you right now. And I don’t have to. Ray, let’s go to your place.”

“What? Now?”

“Yes. I don’t want to look at him—I don’t want to _look at you!”_ He added, screaming directly at gerard who could only whimper in protest. 

He didn’t want left alone! He didn’t want his Master to leave and come back with strangers. 

But that was exactly what happened. He grabbed his coffee mug off the floor and his pizza box of the coffee table, then smashed the mug in his sink. Ray passed gerard a simple, disappointed glance, then ejected his game from the X Box and took it along with his own box of pizza with him when they both left. Only a second or two after the door slammed closed, it was unlocked and reopened as Master returned.

“I don’t fucking trust you,” he spat, glaring at gerard as he hurried over to Sweet Pea and picked her up out of her crate. With her in his arms, he left for good—left gerard behind.


	14. A Time for Understanding

Gerard couldn’t bear it. He needed his Master to come back. He needed this punishment to be over. He was sorry. He was so, so sorry, but there was no one here to listen to his apologies. Master had gone, his friend had gone, the dog was gone. Now he was alone—all alone. 

What if Master never came back? He had every reason to stay away forever and never return. 

Gerard couldn’t take it. He had to be with his Master. He had to find his Master.

For the first time in years, eight years—maybe nine—he approached a door and contemplated opening it, contemplated leaving. Going out onto the streets on his own. Out where there was noise, where there were people. Out there where Masters walked as free men and cowered at every sound…

But he had no choice. He needed to find Master. He needed to apologize and beg for forgiveness. 

He had no choice…

Gerard grabbed the doorknob and turned it, surprised at how easily it gave under his whim. Just like any other door in any other house, he turned the knob and it opened. Only this time it opened to a hallway that wasn’t part of his home. It opened to freedom… No, it opened to danger, to paranoia and panic. 

But he couldn’t just stay in the apartment waiting for a Master who might never come home. He didn’t know where Ray lived, but he didn’t think his Master could have gotten far. Gerard stepped cautiously out into the hallway, looking left and right before the door swung shut behind him with a quiet click. 

As soon as the door was closed, his heart began to race and he turned back toward it. This was a bad idea—a terrible idea. You can’t just walk out of a Master’s home. There were _consequences_ for that. Terrible, _brutal_ consequences.

Except when he tried to open the door and go back inside before his Master could catch him, it wouldn’t budge. The handle wouldn’t even turn. Locked. It was locked.

He’d gotten himself locked out. 

Now there was no way for him to hide what he’d done. No way at all. Even so, he continued to frantically rattle the doorknob in hopes he might somehow be able to get back in, though all he succeeded in doing was draw the attention of one of his Master’s neighbors.

“Hey! You can’t be tryin’ to get in there! You don’t live there!” The woman screamed. “You get outta here before I call the _police!_ Do you hear me?—The _police!_ Now get!” She kept shouting, getting louder and louder until gerard had no choice but to bolt down the hallway, going the direction Master took him whenever they walked the tiny dog.

He fell on the last curve of the steps and hit the ground, banging both his knees and scraping his palms against the cracked tiles at the base of the stairs. He cried out in pain and shuddered a moment, trembling before trying to lift himself up from the floor.

He didn’t give himself much time to recover, afraid the woman would be chasing after him to continue her threat. As soon as he was on his feet, he stumbled toward the door, limping in pain and biting his lip as he fought to keep his composure. 

Master… He needed to find his Master and beg for forgiveness. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank planned to stay at Ray’s place for the night, but after about six hours he grew restless and worried about his apartment. He was angry at his “guest” for lashing out at him, for fucking burning him for no goddamned reason, but the images of that same man crying that whole first night he was in his home started getting to him. It didn’t help matters at all when Ray made the comment that Frank should have made the man leave for acting that way, not let him stay in the apartment unattended. If he was willing to dump coffee on Frank to get the message across that he was mad, what would he do to the apartment while Frank was gone?

“You’ve got no loyalties to this guy. If you put him out on the street, the cops are going to pick him up eventually and they’ll get him where he needs to go anyway,” Ray added.

Maybe he was right, Frank thought. Maybe Ray had a point. A person like that guy called a lot of attention. He’d be picked up for acting suspicious and eventually they’d _have_ to find his family. He would be fine. He’d be in a better place than he was inside Frank’s apartment, that was for sure.

Shortly after that, Frank decided it was best if he went home. He was nervous the whole way back, terrified he’d come home to find his apartment demolished or the whole place lit on fire. He was so thankful he’d thought to bring Sweet Pea. Even if she hadn’t been the man’s initial target, she’d still almost gotten burned. It would kill Frank if anything bad ever happened to his truest little companion. He loved her more than the world. Thank _God_ he hadn’t left her there with the psychopath. 

It started raining just as Frank arrived outside of his apartment building. He stared up at the brick, trying to work up the courage to face whatever was waiting for him inside. 

“Alright, Sweet Pea. You watch my back and I’ll watch yours. Okay?” Frank looked down at Sweet Pea who glanced up at him with her huge, vacant eyes. She shivered a little and looked back down at the sidewalk before wiggling in Frank’s arms as if to say she was ready to go with or without Frank.

Slowly, Frank stepped into the building and made his way up the flights of stairs. It was embarrassing how fast his heart was racing as he approached his front door. He stood there a long time just listening, straining to hear anything that might be happening inside when all he could hear was his neighbor’s television and someone else’s awful singing. 

“Okay… Here goes nothin’,” Frank said as he shifted Sweet Pea around under his arm in order to fit his key in the lock. Just as soon as he turned the knob, however, he heard another door crack open behind him—the noise of the television getting even louder.

“Hey!”

The sharp bark caused Frank to flinch and he turned to look over his shoulder at the crotchety old woman who lived diagonally across the hall from him.

“I saw some man tryin’ to get in your apartment earlier. I scared him off though. I told him I’d call the _police_ if he kept it up.” She looked so angry yet also so proud of herself—like she was annoyed she’d had to intervene but pleased with her contribution to the neighborhood watch.

“A man? What did he look like?” Frank asked.

“I don’t know. Dark clothes… About the same age as you. Looked like a real bum if you ask me. I real punk tryin’ to break into places like no one would notice. He was makin’ so much of a racket! He coulda woken the dead with all that noise.”

Frank thanked her for looking out for him, but in the back of his mind could hardly stop the swear words from brewing. Shit… That person trying to get in could’ve been anyone—anyone from that auction house looking for his guest—but it sounded like the man himself. 

After another moment, Frank pushed the door to his apartment open and was met with complete silence. No sniveling or whimpering or “Master, welcome home!” Just silence. 

He set Sweet Pea down on the floor after shutting the door behind him and began a slow search of the apartment. The man was gone. He’d gone outside and ended up locked out, not realizing the doors locked themselves—partially for security purposes and partially so the landlord could make an extra buck every time a tenant got unexpectedly locked out.

The only thing left of him were his old clothes and that black sketch book his Master had left with him. It was sitting on the kitchen counter and Frank picked it up, examining the cover before opening the book. He hadn’t seen it in a few days—in a long time actually. The man had hidden it away.

It was precious to him. It was his only possession in all the world.

“He wouldn’t leave this,” Frank said to himself, looking down at the book. He didn’t know why, but it gave him a spark of hope—a flash of happiness. He’d come back.

The man who’d caused all this trouble and danger would be back.

Frank sighed and set the book back down on the counted. Sweet Pea was standing at his feet, her pink tongue hanging out the side of her mouth and her buggy eyes fixed on his face almost as if she were judging him for walking out…

No. 

He was imagining things. 

The man was unstable. The man _burnt_ him. He threw coffee on him on purpose…

He was scared. He was scared of Ray, scared of the unfamiliar situation… But did people lash out like that out of _fear?_ He’d been so _angry._ And why? Because Frank wouldn’t pay attention to him? 

Sweet Pea let out a loud yap and continued to stare up at Frank, grumbling until he made eye contact with her. 

He was frightened… He was insecure and worried and trying every desperate attempt he could come up with to get attention. 

“Shit,” Frank whispered, grabbing the book off the counter again. He’d come back, Frank told himself. He could apologize then and talk it out, tell the man he couldn’t just act that way—explain that they needed to have boundaries. 

He moved over to the couch and sat down, avoiding the fabric where it was still damp with spilled coffee. He opened the sketch book again and flipped through the pages—looking at the still life, the vases, bowls of fruit, birds through windowpanes… The comic book panels with their super heroes and frightening monsters. 

All those pictures were different than the one of the man. That sketch of the Black man—Marcus—was haunting. It looked so real—like a photograph. So much detail had been put into the shape of his face, the curls of his hair, the lines of his teeth as he smiled. His eyes looked like they shined. His lips looked soft to the touch. 

To think that this man was a slave as well was painful. He was a prisoner who wasn’t rescued. He didn’t get an escape. Wherever he was, he was trapped. He’d been raped, beaten…sold. Just like the man Frank had been harboring. Frank wished there was something he could do—some way he could save Marcus, save them _all._ But there was nothing…

They were all doomed… Stuck. How were those poor people to be saved? The men, the women… The _children._ Frank still had nightmares about the children he’d seen in that awful place. Was this man a child when he’d been taken? Ripped away from everything familiar?

He wouldn’t tell Frank his name. What if he didn’t even have one?

Frank chased away the thoughts by turning through more of the pages, but his breath caught in his throat when he spotted new drawings—drawings of himself on the pages. Several of them. Each one was more detailed than the last as if the man were practicing Frank’s image, committing it to memory. 

It was odd. It was weird. It frightened him, yet it warmed him at the same time. It was affectionate. The man was studying him, trying to get him to look just right in the pictures. 

Frank spent a long time staring at the pictures, losing track of the hours as his thoughts wandered. He was only pulled back when he heard a loud buzzing from across the room—the doorbell.

Even before he reached the panel by his door and pressed the button, he knew whose voice he would hear.

“Frank?” His name sounded like a sob coming out of the man’s throat. “Are you there, Master?” Frank listened to the man sniffle, heard him sob again. “M-Master?”

Frank couldn’t stand to listen to him cry.

He pressed the button and spoke into the box.

“I’m here. I’ll buzz you in.”

The man mustered a “thank you, Master” before Frank took his finger off he button and unlocked his apartment door. He waited less than a minute before his guest cleared all the flights of stairs and appeared before him in the hallway. 

His face was completely red and streaked with tears, his eyes bloodshot and rubbed raw. He kept wringing his hands together and Frank noticed his palms were scratched up. The knees of his pants were also scuffed, giving off the look that he’d fallen down. 

“I’m very sorry, Master. I won’t do that again—ever again. I didn’t mean to disrespect you. Please don’t throw me out.” More tears fell from the man’s eyes as he spoke. His apology was genuine, but his fear was even more legitimate. He didn’t want to be alone. He was already so frightened of the unfamiliar world around him and being on the streets by himself had to have shaken him to his core. 

“I’ll let you back in on one condition, alright?”

The man nodded his head rapidly and wiped the tears off his cheeks with the back of one of his ripped up hands.

“Don’t call me master anymore. My name is Frank. Call me Frank. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” the man whimpered.

“No—Not sir either. _Frank._ Just call me Frank.” 

“Yes, Frank,” the man said, looking as if it pained him to call Frank by his name.

“Alright. Come on then. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Frank stepped back so the man could come through the doorway. He hurried inside and then stood by the bathroom door as if waiting for permission to go in. “Go on—wash your hands off. Take a shower… Just get cleaned up. I’ll get you some clean clothes.”

The man nodded his head before ducking into the bathroom. He was still scrubbing his palms when Frank returned with clean clothes.

“We need to talk tonight,” Frank said. “I think you know that…”

The man worked his jaw as if he were trying to come up with something to say, but settled for hanging his head a little lower as he turned off the faucet. 

“You know you can’t act like that. You seriously _hurt_ me. You almost hurt Sweet Pea.”

“I’m sorry…” He had to bite back the word ‘Master,’ looking pained as he did. “I-I… I just wanted you to see me. I don’t want replaced again, Master. I don’t want sold again—Please don’t make me leave. I can’t—I can’t do it.” He started crying so hard during the confession that Frank didn’t even consider scolding him for calling him master again. Frank had never seen him this open before. The man kept talking, though Frank could barely understand him as he was so choked with tears. He said something about the auction, something about “Joshua,” something about the “Bad Man” and the basement. He was telling his story and Frank couldn’t comprehend any of it.

“Hey—Hey, no. No, no. It’s alright. It’s okay,” Frank said, coming into the bathroom and putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. Immediately, the touch drew the man in and he buried his face down into Frank’s neck as he continued to cry. “It’ll be okay. I’m not throwing you out. You’re safe… You’re safe.”

They stayed that way, Frank was sure, for almost twenty minutes. The man started hugging him and all Frank could think to do was hug him back. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Stores… Gerard hated stores. So many people rushing past, pushing past, tripping past—so many things being sold, being bought, being scrutinized, being picked up and put back, misplaced and stolen. So many people looking right at him and knowing he wasn’t supposed to be there—knowing he belonged in a bed, stripped, bound and used. Knowing he deserved it for getting involved with the drugs in the first place—for drinking underage and starting to use cocaine and continuing to do it even though his mother had literally _collapsed_ into tears when she found out. 

_Don’t think about it._

Gerard moved closer to Frank as the man made his way down the bread aisle. He, like all the others, scrutinized the products only he made his decisions based on whatever seemed cheapest. More than poor, his new Master was broke. If it wasn’t generic or on sale, he didn’t buy it. There used to be snacks in the house, but not anymore. The little rat still got treats though…

That just wasn’t fair.

“What about we go through the drive-thru for dinner tonight?” Frank said. By drive-thru, he meant dollar menu. Gerard was sick to death of one dollar burgers and chicken sandwiches. 

“We can get those salad packs you like,” gerard whispered. “The two dollar ones with…with all the toppings.”

“I guess… Yeah, that doesn’t sound bad.” Frank turned their cart and took them over toward the produce where the salad packs were kept. He seemed so tired—his movements sluggish. He worked _so much._ Master had a serious job, a “corporate” job, yet gerard didn’t think He ever worked as hard or as much as Frank did. Frank should be a millionaire, not scrounging up quarters from the sidewalk to pay for his food. 

He was losing weight, too, and that concerned gerard quite a bit. When he’d moved in, the man was a little bit…pudgy. Not much, but enough to look soft and round. Gerard had admired it. Now he was starting to look too thin and his clothes just hung on his frame. Gerard really wished he’d eat more than salads and fried strips of tofu. It was hard to even cook for him since there was never any real food in the house. He always brought things home from the diner to eat…

Frank led him to the cooler which held the different salad packs and grabbed one he liked. It took a moment longer for gerard to decide since it was still so instinctual for him to wait for his Master to decide for him. He wanted so badly to go for one of the vegetarian salad packs solely to please Frank, to imitate Frank, but he couldn’t bear the thought of having no meat—no protein. The walnut and cranberry salads were alright, but there was nothing like the ones with little bits of bacon and diced ham. 

Frank didn’t judge him, though. Frank allowed him to eat what he liked, what he was used to having. Gerard like that…he liked Frank. 

Gerard followed closely after Frank when they left the produce aisle. He felt his heart beating a little faster as they moved through the crowded store. He liked Frank… He felt safe with him in a way he’d never felt before. Masters were meant to make slaves feel secure, but Frank took that to a new level. He wasn’t protected with walls and locks. He was just…safe. He was cared for—he was looked after.

Gerard walked as close to Frank as he could as they walked down the aisle of canned vegetables and sauces. Frank was picking out cans that cost less than ninety cents each, scrutinizing them as if spending seventy-nine cents on a can of green beans was worth it. To gerard, it was the saddest thing in the world. 

As Frank stared at the can, gerard came a little closer and rested his head on Frank’s shoulder. The man shrugged him away almost immediately and put the can of green beans back on the shelf.

“Something you want?” Frank asked, moving their cart a little further down the aisle. Gerard followed him obediently and kept his distance this time when Frank stopped to look at the salad dressings. “I hate ranch… Is there one you like? What did yours come with?—Yeah, ranch. Gross.” Frank looked at the salad packs in the basket and shook his head. “What do you like?”

“Ranch is fine,” Gerard mumbled. He didn’t care what dressing came in his salad pack and he certainly didn’t care to make Frank spend more money on him. 

“I usually get balsamic…but I can’t see any here,” Frank said, his words drawing out as he searched the section of one-dollar bottles. 

Gerard began scanning the bottles as well, though he looked past the generic brands and cheap products to the glass bottles—the shiny labels. 

_Girard’s._ That was the brand Master kept in the house and every time He brought it out, He looked to gerard and smiled. Gerard missed that smile… He missed the sound of his name being said with affection. He missed being called for. Whenever Frank wanted him, he just called out “hey” until gerard came to him.

He wanted to tell Frank what his name was for almost a week now, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d told Master his name after they’d had sex the second time. He’d hoped it would make them feel more connected, but his Master ignored the name for a long time—months even. It hurt to give his name away and have it ignored. 

“I can’t afford that brand—put it back.”

Gerard hadn’t realized he’d picked up the expensive, glass bottle until Frank commanded his attention. 

_Girard’s._

“I know you’re probably used to nice things, but I can’t afford that. Please put it down,” Frank said, shaking his head and grabbing a two-dollar bottle of balsamic vinaigrette. 

Gerard looked at the bottle, then turned to Frank and stared until they made eye contact. 

“What?” Frank asked. His face looked impatient, his eyes tired. “What?! I can’t afford that. I’m sorry. Please put it back.”

“Yes, Sir,” gerard said, quickly returning the bottle to the shelf, his hands shaking terribly. Never mind. Maybe another time… Maybe Frank would pick a new name for him. Maybe that name wouldn’t sound so hurtful when Frank scolded him. Maybe then it wouldn’t feel so hurtful.

Gerard kept his head ducked and a fair amount of space between himself and Frank as they continued their shopping trip. 

( ) ( ) ( )

His guest had been acting strangely since they’d gotten back from the store. He’d hurried to unpack their groceries by himself, then hid in the bathroom for quite some time before coming out when Frank told him he was going to have dinner. 

The man came out of the bathroom then and helped to prepare their salad packs, going out of his way to put them into glass bowls despite the plastic ones the salads came in being adequate enough. 

When they sat down together at the table, the man kept his head down as if he were ashamed of something… Was he still embarrassed about being told the salad dressing was too expensive? Clearly the man didn’t understand what it was like to not have money, but he’d never acted this way before. He looked so uncomfortable and sad in a way he hadn’t in the past over anything. 

“So… You’re probably used to having a lot of nice things to eat, huh? Back with…with that guy. Lots of name brand stuff?”

“I can cook just about anything,” the man said, even though that wasn’t at all what Frank had asked.

“Did he teach you?”

“Marcus taught me. Master bought him cook books. Marcus is really talented…” He looked so meek as he spoke, keeping his eyes on his bowl of salad.

“This is probably like torture for you then, isn’t it? All this cheap shit.”

“No, Frank,” the man said, making eye contact briefly before looking back down at his salad. 

“I mean, I saw you gravitate to that eight dollar bottle of dressing. I don’t think I could ever afford that, even when I was budgeting for just myself. It’s probably really good though, right?”

“I… I don’t know, Frank,” the man said, ducking his head more. 

“It’s alright. I’m just curious. It’s probably better than that cheap ranch,” Frank said, gesturing to the white dressing all over the man’s salad. 

“It’s just…the name.”

“What is?” Frank asked before taking a large bite of lettuce and cucumber. 

“The… The brand. I…”

“You like it?” Frank suggested. It was odd to see him so tongue tied and nervous. Usually if Frank put him on the spot, the man just lashed out in anger or hid from him. He didn’t duck his head and stammer. 

“Master buys it…”

“Yeah?” Frank pressed, wondering what it was the man was trying to say. He clearly had something on his mind, but was having trouble leading into it. Frank didn’t know how to get him to speak, though. “Do you like it a lot?”

“It’s…It’s _Girard’s_ brand.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Frank had to bite back adding ‘what’s your point?’

“That’s… That’s my name.”

“Your _name?”_ Frank asked, spitting out the mouthful of salad he’d taken back onto his fork. That was why he’d grabbed it?—Because he was trying to tell Frank his _name?_

“Yes.” He was looking down at his salad, his fork tines piercing a piece of boiled egg. He looked ashamed. He looked _sad._

“Girard?”

“Gerard…”

“That’s a pretty unique name. You don’t hear that one a lot… Not like Frank. Every third person you meet around New Jersey is called Frank, you know?” Frank tried smiling at him, hoping it would make him feel more comfortable. The man—Gerard—just kept staring down at his salad bowl. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Gerard before.” 

When his name was spoken, the man looked up with his big, hazel eyes. Something in that gaze made Frank’s breath catch in his throat. It was as if the man were looking at him for the first time—as if Frank were seeing him for the first time. 

And he was beautiful.


	15. A Family Outing

Gerard watched as Frank dressed himself for work, memorizing the lines of his shoulders and the curve of his spine. He wanted him… He wanted Frank so badly, but every offer he made was rejected. He slept in Frank’s bed now—even got to be held by his new, dear Master through the night—but he wasn’t allowed kisses and he could never get more than hugs. Oh, but how badly he wanted Frank…

“Frank?” Gerard called, still staring at Frank in the dim glow of the bedroom lamp. It was so early in the morning and yet Frank was up and nearly ready to leave. He’d already had his breakfast, had already walked that yappy little rat, and had already showered. 

“Hm? What?” Frank asked, his voice low and rough with sleep. He was so, so tired and gerard felt sorry for him. He wished there were more he could do to help. When Frank was gone, he cleaned the house and did all the chores he could just so Frank wouldn’t have to worry about them. The only task he couldn’t complete on his own was the laundry. He would clean, he’d prep meals if he had the supplies… He even went to sleep without complaint at seven o’clock when Frank came home fatigued. “What, gerard?”

Gerard felt his heart flutter when Frank spoke his name. He’d never had anyone’s voice have that effect on him and it struck him so deeply he had to lower his gaze. Having Frank looking at him and speaking his name in that way was just too much.

“You’re waiting tables today?” Gerard asked softly.

“Yeah. I get off at noon.”

“Are you walking today?”

“Huh? Yeah, I guess. Save money on the gas… I’m up early enough.”

“Can I come with you? I’ll behave. I won’t talk to anyone or make a scene. I-I’ll just have coffee and visit you for a while.” Gerard looked up hopefully, licking his lips as Frank looked him over. “I’d pay attention and walk myself home.”

“How would you get in? I’ve got the keys. You should stay here.” Frank turned away from him and gerard felt his spirits sink.

“I wouldn’t steal your keys, Frank… I just want to see where you work. See the…the people.” He hoped that might be the trick—acting as if he were interested in being in a crowd when in reality large groups terrified him.

Frank sighed heavily and turned to look at him. He looked so tired…

“You want to come for a little bit?”

“Just for some coffee,” gerard whispered, knowing he was pushing it. It was so clear that Frank didn’t like the idea, but gerard couldn’t stand the thought of being alone all day. Not when he _needed_ to be with his Master.

“Alright. But I’m _trusting_ you with my house keys. Please don’t lose them. They’re the only set I have.”

“I’ll be careful. It’s just…too quiet here.”

“It’s early. You should really go back to bed, not drink coffee.”

“I want to be with you, Frank,” gerard confessed, looking at Frank with the most desperate gaze he could muster.

A small smile flashed across Frank’s lips, but the man turned away quickly as if to hide it.

“Alright. Get your shoes on. We’ve gotta go.”

Gerard felt like a small child on Christmas as he jumped up from the bed and went to the living area to put on his shoes. He wasn’t at all excited to go out of the house, but he would do anything to spend more time with Frank—to learn more about him and see who he was when he wasn’t eating or falling asleep on the couch. 

“Frank, can I bring my sketchbook?” Gerard asked, looking up from his shoe as he finished tying the laces. 

“Sure. That’s a good idea. My bosses won’t bother you if they think you’re occupied.”

Gerard hurried to dig his sketchbook out of its hiding place for the day. He moved it every time Frank left the house and this time he had it buried underneath the towels in the bathroom cupboard. He grabbed his book, a pen, and a pencil, then met Frank by the apartment door. 

“So… I know you slip up sometimes and that’s fine, but do _not_ call me master when I’m at work. Please. I don’t want to try explaining that to my boss.”

Gerard just nodded, licking his lips with excitement. He was going to see where Frank worked. He was going to visit him and have his attention outside the apartment. Gerard really couldn’t be happier. Master had never allowed him to go to his office. Master never let him out of the house… Master never trusted him to behave the way Frank did.

Frank trusted him…

Trust. That was a strange, foreign thing. 

As they walked to the diner where Frank worked, gerard worked very hard to remember all the roads they took and where to turn. For once, he wasn’t bothered by the cars or the ladies walking their dogs. He was safe with Frank and no one was going to grab him again.

“Are you sure you can find your way back alright?” Frank said as they rounded yet another corner. 

“Yes,” gerard said, feigning confidence. He remembered landmarks—that would be enough, right? If worse came to worst, he’d just have to stay at the diner Frank’s whole shift. Oh _no._ How _awful_ that would be.

When the diner finally came into sight, gerard’s heart leapt. He was excited and nervous. In the weeks he’d spent with Frank, they’d never gone out to a restaurant together—and even if Frank was there to work, gerard still wanted to let himself feel that they were spending time together. He always wanted Frank’s attention and being with him where he worked was a step up from having his attention in the apartment…though he’d have to compete with all the other customers to catch Frank’s eye.

“Remember, I’m at work, okay? I can’t stay and talk to you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you. Okay?”

“Okay, Frank,” gerard said, looking the building up and down before Frank held the door open to him. 

Frank held the door for _him._

The diner was large—a long bar at the center of the room full of men in working clothes drinking coffee and eating. There were tables everywhere and booths along the walls, but they were mostly empty and the spacious diner was quiet except for the clinking of cutlery and the quiet music playing on the speakers. 

“Where do you want me to sit, Frank?” Gerard asked, his eyes wide as he looked around the restaurant. It was so quiet and cool and peaceful. He liked it here.

“Come sit at the bar. We’re slow right now, but it’ll pick up in about an hour. We can’t have you taking an entire table for yourself. Will you be okay sitting next to someone?” A question that could’ve sounded irritable coming from someone else came out so affectionate when Frank asked. He was worried—genuinely worried.

Gerard felt himself blushing and immediately turned away as he answered. 

“I’ll be okay.” He’d been made to stand backstage with hundreds of slaves in a tight space—sitting next to one stranger in a spacious diner like this was nothing. Not with Frank around, anyway. With Frank, he felt invincible. 

“Alright. Take a seat—I’ll bring you some coffee.” Frank patted his shoulder and gerard found himself leaning into the touch so much he almost fell over when Frank stepped away from him and disappeared behind the counter. 

With that simple, short barrier between them, gerard already began to feel less protected. He looked back and forth, scanning the room, before hurrying over to the bar and sitting down as far away from the customers as he could get. He could still hear Frank’s voice and see the register where he was standing talking to a woman who started looking at gerard. 

It made him nervous so he ducked his head again and didn’t lift it until Frank brought him a brown mug full of black coffee.

“Just tell me if you want any more, okay? You want anything else? Toast or something?—My boss would let me give you toast for free.”

“I’m okay,” gerard said, smiling nervously and bowing his head. Frank was waiting on him—serving him. The only other person who’d ever served him was Marcus.

“Alright. I’ll be back in a bit.” With that he was gone, smiling for other people—other men and strange women in office clothes. Gerard didn’t like it. Watching him like that filled him with a sickness, a jealousy, that he could barely keep down as he swallowed his sour coffee. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard had been in his diner drinking coffee and eating toast for over four hours now. He’d gotten visibly anxious around the peak breakfast hour, but was calming down now that it had gotten slower. 

“Go on and give him that dish table eight sent back if you want to,” Frank’s manager told him as he came back to the kitchen after refilling Gerard’s cup yet again. “Someone should eat it.”

“Are you sure?” Frank asked. He hadn’t explained to her why Gerard was there or had been for so long, but she seemed to sense that there was something _off_ about him when she’d tried to talk to him herself. Gerard would hardly look her in the face and had only mumbled short answers to her friendly questions. 

“Go ahead and feed him. It’s not like he’s a stray. I can tell already he won’t be coming back without you. He won’t even pay attention to anyone else.”

“Yeah… He’s… He’s different,” Frank said, peering out the window of the kitchen door at Gerard. He was still sitting there sipping his coffee and working on a comic in his little, black sketchbook. He looked nothing like the terrified heap of bones and flesh Frank had purchased at that terrible auction. Gerard almost looked happy.

“I figured as much. Autistic?”

“Oh! Um… No. I don’t think it’s that. He’s just—”

“Well, it’s none of my business anyway. Is it?” His manager said, pulling on a large smile. “Give him that food from table eight. Poor thing is skin and bones.”

Frank thanked her, then carried the bowl of “burnt” biscuits and gravy to Gerard.

“Here. My boss said you look hungry,” Frank said, smiling as he set the bowl down in front of Gerard’s sketchbook. 

Gerard flinched and pulled back from the counter, clearly surprised by Frank’s appearance. 

“I-I… I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. Someone sent this back. They didn’t eat anything off it. It’s safe.” Frank smiled a little wider and nudged the bowl forward before setting down a roll of silverware. “You need to eat something or you’re going to get sick from all that caffeine.”

In all honesty, Frank had started giving him decaf after his third cup. He didn’t need the man bouncing off the walls of his diner, that was for damn sure.

“I… Thank you,” Gerard said, bowing his head quickly and picking up the silverware roll. He seemed uncertain what to do with it for a moment, then peeled away the green sticker holding it together and pulled out the fork. 

“I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?” Frank said, backing away from Gerard’s seat at the bar and returning to the kitchen. When he peered out through the window again, Gerard was happily eating his meal—his sketchbook closed and neglected beside him on the counter. 

He looked so _cute_ when he ate. He was smiling a little to himself as he shoveled bite after bite of gravy and biscuit into his mouth. It was clear how hungry the poor guy was, not filled up at all by the many cups of coffee he’d had.

Around the time Gerard finished his bowl of food, another man entered the diner. The customer seated himself at a booth in Frank’s section and immediately started shifting around in his seat, impatiently looking for a waiter to boss around.

Frank knew his type right away and let out a heavy sigh. He’d have to wait a bit longer before he could clear away Gerard’s bowl and visit with him again. 

After getting the look of annoyance off his face, Frank screwed on his “Happy Waiter” smile and made his way out of the kitchen toward the new customer’s table. Gerard turned to look at him as he walked out and Frank smiled at him in acknowledgement, not wanting him to feel ignored even if he was supposed to have left hours ago. 

“Hello. Welcome to Neil’s on Main. Can I get you started with some coffee or iced tea?”

“Yeah… Coffee,” the man said, leaning back in his seat—looking for something beyond the white frames of his glasses. He wasn’t really much of a man at all, Frank thought as he got to looking at him. He was young with a mess of blonde-brown hair and bad skin, a sleepless look about his dark eyes. 

“Regular or decaf?” Frank asked, setting the menu down in front of the young man who looked down at it only briefly before leaning back even further in his seat.

He was looking at Gerard, Frank thought—the idea driving a spike of fear through his chest. Out of instinct, it seemed, he moved over a step in a subtle way to block this stranger’s view. If he saw Gerard and recognized him, he could be no one good. Dressed in his dark clothes and red scarf, this man could very well have been one of the monsters in that auction house.

As soon as Frank got in his way, the man slumped forward over his menu.

“Regular. Black—don’t bother with creamer.”

“Right,” Frank said, making his tone as unfriendly as this stranger’s. He left the table to go fetch the coffee, but paused by the kitchen window to see if the man would try to approach Gerard—try to hurt him—but he just stayed at his table and continued to stare at Gerard’s turned back. 

He didn’t look down at his menu. He watched Gerard…

Frank cursed under his breath and shook his head. He needed to think of something quickly. It wasn’t safe for Gerard here now, but he couldn’t _leave_ either. If he walked home alone, he could be grabbed again. Frank _couldn’t_ let that happen. Gerard didn’t deserve to get hurt again.

When he returned to the man’s table with the coffee, it took every bit of his willpower not to drop it in the guy’s lap the way Gerard had done to him. He wanted this guy _out_ of his diner. He felt like a threat, even if his build was small and unassuming. Frank was afraid of him… Afraid for Gerard.

Frank swallowed down his anxiety and stepped back out into the dining room with the mug of coffee. As soon as he neared the man’s table, he turned his focus away from Gerard and looked at Frank—pushing his menu away with disinterest. 

“Can I get the fried ham and cheese? I don’t need the French fries… I just want the sandwich.”

He didn’t even give Frank a chance to ask. He just prattled off his order and looked toward Gerard again.

“Anything else?” Frank asked.

“No… That’s all…” He spoke so slowly—clearly distracted by Gerard. It wasn’t a figment of Frank’s imagination. It wasn’t just a lonely man scoping out a potential romantic partner in the diner. He was looking at Gerard with intrigue. He recognized him and he wanted to be sure of it before he made his move.

It drove Frank mad that there was _nothing_ he could do to get the man away.

He couldn’t even tell Gerard it was time to go home and hide. If he left the building, he was an easy target and Frank would go _insane_ with worry. 

“Alright. I’ll have that right out for you.”

“And more coffee. Please.” Even his attempt to be polite was strained, like he literally had to pry his attention away from Gerard long enough to think up a simple phrase.

“Sure.” Frank passed a nervous look to Gerard which he was sorry to admit that strange man picked up on. 

“Who is that?” The man asked.

“A customer,” Frank said, his voice as harsh as he could make it without drawing the attention of his managers. 

Frank hated to leave the table and return to the kitchen with the stranger’s order.

He hated it even more when the man got up in his absence and seated himself at the bar instead, sitting three chairs away from Gerard who had gone back to his sketchbook. Frank was tempted just to burst out of the kitchen, grab him, and run. It wasn’t safe…

This wasn’t safe.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard sensed eyes on him but was determined not to look around. He wasn’t supposed to call attention to himself and he really didn’t want to accidentally make eye contact with anyone anyway. He finished his _wonderful_ breakfast—pleased to not be eating fast food for once even though the meal was far from healthy in its own right—and turned his attention back to his sketchbook. 

He was making a comic about a dog rescuer with Frank’s attributes who not only could hear the thoughts of animals, but could control them. He didn’t know where he was taking this story about a short man with a dog army, but it was amusing nonetheless. Frank smiled every time he saw gerard drawing one of the dogs. 

Frank loved dogs—even dogs that looked like geriatric rats.

Gerard was happily minding his own business, basking in the glory of being able to get Frank to permit him to stay in the diner much later than they’d discussed that morning, when someone sat down a few seats from him at the bar.

He hated it when men sat near him, but he did his best to ignore it. He let his hair fall down to cover his face and stared at his page, trying to get a line right. He could still feel the eyes on him…

He hated it. It filled him with a bad, sick feeling.

He wasn’t just being noticed, he was being watched. 

Finally, unable to take anymore, gerard looked up from his page and glanced through the curtain of his hair down the bar at the man. 

He wasn’t even trying to hide that he was staring in gerard’s direction. It made gerard’s breath quicken and he tightened his grip on his pen. His leg bounced up and down nervously and he let out a soft whine.

Where was Frank? Where was his Master? It was his Master’s job to make men like this stay away. It was a Master’s _job_ to make him feel safe.

_Where was Frank?_

The man just kept _staring_ and all of the good feelings rushed out of gerard’s chest in one heavy sigh. He felt like he was about to start crying—so terrified of what Frank was going to let happen to him.

Maybe Frank was a regular Master—maybe he’d sold him to this stranger or was trying to. Why else would he stay in the kitchen and watch the man stare at him instead of stopping it? 

Why would Frank do this to him?

How could Frank do this? Gerard was so good to him this whole time… Okay, so maybe he burnt him once and maybe he could be rude from time to time, but that was no reason to _sell_ him. He said he was sorry!

“Gerard?”

He heard his name but it wasn’t spoken by a voice he recognized. It caused his breath to catch in his throat, and when he tried to swallow he nearly choked. 

“Gerard, is that…you?”

Gerard finally turned toward the man, wetting his lips nervously as he did. 

Small frame. Brown hair—messy. Thick glasses. The lines of his face… The outline of his jaw…

Gerard knew that face—

No. _No._

He _didn’t_ know that face. He didn’t know anybody’s face that wasn’t his Master’s or Marcus’ or his Trainer’s.

He couldn’t remember anything before that. No one else existed before that time.

No one.

He _didn’t_ know that face. 

He _didn’t know that face._

Gerard bolted to his feet too quickly, getting tangled up in the barstool and almost falling over before he caught himself and ran. He pushed through the double doors and hurried down the street, almost getting struck by a red sedan in his haste. He couldn’t stop though—even when he caught himself running down unfamiliar streets, he couldn’t stop. 

He didn’t want to go back there. He couldn’t go back there. There was _nothing_ there. Nothing. _Nothing!_


	16. Where Intentions Are Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm so distracted and slow Dx

The anxiety was eating him alive, twisting his stomach into knots until he’d finally had to excuse himself from the diner several hours early. He’d tried to follow Gerard when he’d sprinted out, and so had that strange man, but Gerard was gone… He’d disappeared somewhere in the city and apparently the man couldn’t find him either because he came back to the diner demanding to see Frank. Luckily, his manager allowed him to hide in the back and ordered the man to go away with the threat of calling the police. 

Frank tried to focus on his job, hoping Gerard would come back on his own, but after an hour and half without any sign of him, Frank lost his patience. He had to go. He couldn’t stand not knowing what had become of his friend. He’d looked so scared when he ran out into the street—he looked like he had at the auction house. 

Frank _needed_ to find him, but the city was huge and he didn’t even know where to start. He walked an odd route home, hoping to come across Gerard hiding in the park, but he was nowhere. The city was too large to search on foot and he knew he’d never be able to spot Gerard by car. 

He walked back to his apartment, then cursed himself when he realized he couldn’t get inside. Gerard had his keys… 

He had to call his landlord and then wait an hour and a half outside of his apartment door before he could finally be let inside—with a stiff fine. When he finally got into his apartment, Frank’s spirits were so low and his anxiety so great he barely even had the strength to acknowledge Sweet Pea who yapped at him from her crate. He stood at the kitchen sink, trying to get himself to drink a glass of water in hopes it might calm him down. 

All he could think about was Gerard and how he’d looked in the auction house—how scared he’d been, and how frightened he’d looked when he ran from that man in the diner.

What if he’d been caught again? He’d just started to be comfortable going out. What if he’d gotten taken? What if he was being tortured or terrorized? He didn’t deserve that… He didn’t deserve to be taken again.

Frank leaned against his kitchen counter, staring at a cup and thinking about getting a drink but never actually making any more motions to grab it. He couldn’t stop thinking about Gerard. He’d looked so happy sitting there drawing in his sketchbook… Then he’d run out and left it behind—his most prized possession, his _only_ possession. Frank laid the book down next to the glass on his counter and sighed heavily. 

There was no way Gerard was going to be able to find his way home. He didn’t know the city, he didn’t know _anyone_ who could help him. He was going to be lost out there all alone if that man didn’t catch him first.

Frank let out a heavy groan and stepped over to his couch, sinking down on it and burying his head in his hands. What was he going to do? What was he _supposed_ to do? Report him _missing?_

Sweet Pea let out another series of shrill yaps, finally pulling Frank out of his thoughts long enough to let her free of her cage. She jumped up on his leg and licked at his hands until he picked her up and held her. 

At least she was still here, Frank thought. At least his apartment wouldn’t be completely lonely with Gerard gone. As odd and frustrating and annoying as he could be sometimes, Frank hadn’t ever really wanted him to _leave._ He knew in his heart that Gerard wasn’t his to keep, but he hadn’t wanted it to end like this.

Frank sat down on the couch again and held Sweet Pea in his lap, kissing her and nuzzling her as she licked his face. She could tell he was upset and was doing her very best to make him feel better.

After about half an hour, Frank calmed down enough to relax back against the cushion and take his face out of her scruffy neck—though she clearly hadn’t minded the attention since she yapped at him as soon as he pulled away. He stared at the television for a while, then looked over at the kitchen counter where Gerard’s sketchbook lay, then dropped his gaze to the coffee table.

“What the fuck?” He said, pushing Sweet Pea out of his lap and onto the cushion beside him as he leaned forward. Sitting on the coffee table, next to a collection of dead pens Gerard had been sorting through the day before, were his keys. He grabbed them and turned them over in his hands as if expecting them to disappear. 

If his keys were here, that meant Gerard _had_ gotten home. So why didn’t he say anything?

“Gerard?” Frank called, standing up from the couch and making his way to his bedroom. He expected to see Gerard on the bed, but he wasn’t there—nor was he in the bathroom. “Gerard, where are you?” Frank asked, mostly to himself as he began looking harder, peeking under the bed before coming to stand in front of his small closet. 

That was where he found his friend, pressed back into the corner with his knees to his chest, face hidden by Frank’s long shirts. 

“Hey—Why didn’t you tell me you made it home?” Frank asked, kneeling down and pulling the clothes out of his way. 

Gerard stared at him, his face red and swollen with tears. His eyes still held so much fear and aversion. Frank felt awful for him. 

“Do you want to come out of there? You’re safe now. No one’s here. No one followed me.”

Gerard looked back at the wall of the closet, then at Frank. He stared a moment before slowly scooting forward and separating himself from the camouflage of Frank’s dark clothes. 

“I brought your sketchbook back from the diner. It’s on the kitchen counter if you want it,” Frank said. He knew he needed to ease into the subject, but was afraid to push too hard—at least for tonight. He wanted to know why the man had frightened Gerard so much, knowing he would see that man again. It was too obvious that he knew Gerard personally and that strange guy was going to ask him about Gerard. Frank just needed to know what to say or if he should call the cops when it happened. “Are you going to be okay?” Frank asked when Gerard merely stood before him with his head down and his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Yes,” Gerard whispered.

“Come on. Let’s go sit down on the couch. I’ll make you some coffee—Do you want coffee?”

“Coffee is…nice,” Gerard mumbled, following Frank to the living room and sitting down on the couch next to Sweet Pea who hadn’t moved since Frank set her aside. Gerard stared at her and she looked at him with her buggy eyes. It surprised Frank a little when Gerard reached out to pet her. He’d never once made any effort to get closer to Sweet Pea and it was no secret to Frank that he didn’t care for the dog at all. That alone told Frank that Gerard was more than upset over seeing that strange man if he was even going to Sweet Pea for comfort. 

Frank set to making a pot of coffee, then brought a mug to Gerard and sat down across from him on the couch with Sweet Pea between them. Gerard stopped petting her once the coffee was in his hands, and stared down at the steam while Frank watched him.

“So you…knew that guy?”

“Knew him?” Gerard repeated, his voice painfully quiet. He grimaced and looked close to crying again, then nodded his head. “I think so.”

“He seemed to know you,” Frank suggested.

“Yeah…”

“Is he someone bad?” Frank asked. Gerard looked over at him, his eyes suddenly nervous. “Is he—”

“I don’t want taken away from you, Frank. I like being here. I want to stay here with you—I want to _stay_ here,” Gerard said, the tears swelling in his eyes as his voice grew more and more frantic. 

“I-I’m not… I’m not going to sell you to him or give you to him, Gerard. It’s okay. You don’t need to be scared.”

Gerard didn’t look convinced at all and he sniffled before lifting his coffee mug and taking a gentle sip. 

“Has he hurt you before?” Frank asked. It surprised him quite a bit when Gerard shook his head no. 

Another slave, then? But if that man had been held in captivity as well, why would Gerard run from him in fear? It didn’t make any sense…

“Is he not—”

“I think that was my brother,” Gerard said, staring at his coffee instead of Frank. “I think… I think that was Mikey. But I… I don’t know why he’s here. Are we near Bellville?” 

“Bellville?” Frank asked, his mind practically grinding to a halt. He was still hung up on the fact that Gerard had a _brother,_ and now he was saying he was from Bellville? 

“My family… My parents lived in Bellville.”

“Yeah, we’re right outside of Bellville, Gerard. You never mentioned any of this before—about a brother or where you were from.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Gerard repeated.

“I can’t keep you here, Gerard. I like you a lot and I like having you here, but I can’t _keep_ you. If that was your brother and he recognized you, then you’ve got family that’s looking for you, right? You’re _missed_ by somebody. I can’t keep you from them.”

“I don’t want to go with them! I’m happy here!” Gerard said before taking another drink from his coffee cup. 

“Why don’t you want to go home?”

“This _is_ home.”

“No. This is _my_ home. Why don’t you want to go back to be with your parents. I’m sure they miss you…” Frank was partially wondering if his parents were the reason he’d ended up in this hell, but wasn’t sure if Gerard would feel comfortable enough to admit that. He shared many awful stories about the people who had abused him, but he’d never once mentioned how he’d been taken by those men—whether he’d been taken or sold. 

“They don’t want me… No one wants me.”

“Gerard… That’s not true.”

“You want to throw me out…”

“No. I want you to be with your family; like you were before all that bad shit happened. Don’t you miss them?” It sounded like a stupid question even to Frank, especially after Gerard had run away from his own _brother_ and hid himself in the closet. 

“They don’t want me… No one wants me. I can’t go back. They… They won’t want me. No one does. No one wants me…” He kept repeating it, over and over, his voice becoming meek until he was crying against the rim of his coffee mug. It was clear that this was as far as they were going to get tonight and Frank was willing to let the conversation drop before Gerard got ill or had a panic attack. 

“I want you,” Frank said, reaching over and placing a hand on Gerard’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I want you here. Don’t worry. You can stay here. It’ll be alright.”

Gerard leaned over then and pressed his face into Frank’s neck, seeking comfort—protection. 

“It’ll be alright,” Frank repeated, his mind spinning over what he was supposed to do now. He put his arms around the other man and squeezed him tightly. “You can stay.”

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard lay with his head on Frank’s chest, listening to his even breaths and the soft thrum of his heart. He was still too frightened to sleep, too afraid that at any minute someone was going to come banging on the door and demand he be turned over to his family—given back to people who would be better off thinking he was dead than knowing the truth. He wanted to believe that it wasn’t Mikey he’d seen in the diner. He wanted to believe it was a stranger who somehow learned his name.

He wanted to believe those things, but he didn’t. He’d been found, and if he wasn’t careful Frank was going to give him away. 

He would lose his home again—he would be turned out again. Everything familiar would be gone, the affection he got would be gone… Even if his family did want him back, they would never hold him like this—they would never let him crawl into bed with them like this.

And he wouldn’t _want_ them to. He didn’t want parents and a brother—he wanted a Master. He wanted a Keeper to protect him.

Gerard tilted his chin up and pressed a kiss onto Frank’s neck, then another when the man didn’t stir. He wanted Frank awake—he didn’t want to feel alone with all these thoughts rushing through his head. But Frank just kept sleeping…

More than anything in the world, gerard just wanted his attention. He wanted Frank to like him enough to keep him like he said he would. Gerard knew Frank only said those things to keep him calm. He knew Frank was planning to send him away the first chance he got…

And there was only one way gerard could think of to prevent that. If he could prove to Frank how much he cared for him, how much he adored him as a Keeper despite his drawbacks, Frank would have to let him stay. He’d see what he’d been missing and keep gerard like he was supposed to, not consider giving him away.

Slowly, gerard pulled himself away from Frank’s side, watching the other man’s face as he moved. If Frank awoke now, there was no way he’d let gerard do what he had planned. Frank was so adamant about having barriers between them, about having restrictions and personal space. No, if he woke up now, Frank would never let him do this.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank’s eyes snapped open, knowing right away that something was wrong no matter how good he felt. He understood, even before he was fully awake, what was happening to his body but it took a moment to realize that it was _actually_ happening—not just an incredibly lucid dream. And if it was really happening, there was only one person who could possibly be doing it and that was something that _could not happen._ Could not!

“G-Gerard? What the fuck are you doing?” Frank snapped, trying to pull himself away only to have Gerard grab onto his hip and start sucking on him harder. “Ah, fuck,” Frank moaned, his body giving an involuntary little shudder as Gerard traced the slit with the tip of his tongue. 

This was _not_ alright. This was not _fair!_ It was an assault and Frank didn’t _want_ it, but fuck it felt good—and Gerard was anything but unattractive. 

But it was _wrong._

“Quit! Gerard, _stop it!_ I-I didn’t say you could—ahn… _Fuck.”_ Telling him to stop just made Gerard take his length deeper. He had no intention of listening and Frank was honestly afraid of what would happen if he tried to shove him off. 

With a soft groan, Frank laid still and squeezed his eyes shut. He knew letting Gerard stay was a bad idea… He knew it was stupid and dangerous, but he’d never thought _this_ would happen. 

Frank cracked his eyes open a sliver and stared down at Gerard’s silhouette in the dark, watching his head and his hand move up and down. Gerard was moaning like he was enjoying himself, but Frank remembered very clearly that his former owner had said he would bite anything stuck in his mouth. 

God, Frank hoped the man didn’t get the insane impulse to bite him. He would not be able to keep Gerard here if he bit him for no goddamned reason. 

Frank moaned softly as Gerard began doing little tricks with his tongue and moved his hand from Frank’s shaft to his balls, cradling them before licking his way down to them.

If he hated it, why was he so damned good at it? Frank felt his climax nearing and bit his lip. He felt oddly humiliated like this, even though he was on the one receiving the pleasure. He felt so…used. What was Gerard going to expect in return once he was done?—And what kind of asshole would Frank be if he did tell him no? 

Gerard took Frank’s length into his mouth again, sucking hard as his hand wrapped around the inches he couldn’t fit. He was pushing Frank closer and closer to the edge until finally he felt the warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach.

Immediately, Gerard pulled back from him and started spitting on the bed sheets and the floor, shaking his head and panting in between. Frank was still coming down from his high, but he was afraid of what was going to come next. Was Gerard going to demand something of him or just try to take him by force?

His fears only escalated when Gerard finished spitting and started crawling over top of him on the mattress. Only Gerard didn’t ask for more or try for anything else… He dropped down on Frank’s chest and sighed heavily, hugging him tightly before acting as if to go to sleep.

“Gerard… You need to give me some space,” Frank said, unable to make his tone harsh even though he was less than pleased with what had transpired. Gerard didn’t know any better, he told himself. Gerard was confused and scared and trying to win Frank over with his affection…

Frank told himself all that, but it didn’t make him feel any better when he pushed Gerard off his chest.

“Look, you can’t do that to me. You need to go back to the couch.”

Gerard groaned softly and cuddled up into Frank’s side, acting like he hadn’t heard a thing.

“Gerard, I mean it.” Frank sat up, digging through the sheets until he found his boxers and pulled them on. Still, Gerard made no motions to get up from the bed. “Gerard! This is _not_ okay! You can’t just climb in my bed when I’m asleep and do shit like that! We’re not together! It’s _wrong!”_

When he raised his voice, that was when he finally got a reaction. Gerard looked startled as he slowly sat up, his face twisted with anxiety. 

“Master?”

“No! I’ve told you a million times, I’m _not_ your master! I don’t want you doing those things to me! I know you don’t understand that, I know that’s _weird_ for you, but it makes me _uncomfortable._ I don’t _feel_ that way about you. Do you understand?”

Gerard bowed his head immediately, leaving it hanging so long without speaking that Frank began to feel sorry for him again. 

“I just wanted to make you happy, Master…”

“I’m not—”

“I know you want to get rid of me. I know I’m not wanted here… But I don’t want to leave. I _feel that way_ about you and I don’t want to go. I’m happy here. I feel safer here than I have anywhere… I-I don’t like when the neighbors yell and I don’t like when you’re gone, but…no one hurts me. You don’t scare me. I want to stay here…” When Gerard looked up at him, there was so much pain in his eyes that Frank couldn’t stand it. 

“Did… Did someone in your family hurt you? Is that why you don’t—”

“No, but I wasn’t ever happy. I’m not happy anywhere, Frank. I’m happy with you and I was happy with M-Marcus.” As soon as he spoke that other man’s name, the tears started falling. “I don’t want sent away.”

“Your family _clearly_ misses you. They want you back—they could get you help so you don’t feel like you need to do those _things_ to get affection. You’re worth more than that.”

“I’m not,” Gerard said, looking at the bed sheets. 

“You are.”

“I’m not worth anything. Not to you or anybody.” The hurt flashed across his face again and then he was up from the bed and gone. Frank heard him drop down onto the couch heavily and thought to follow him, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He wouldn’t win in an argument and he honestly didn’t want to encourage Gerard into thinking if he cried or got upset he could get away with the things he did. He needed to know it wasn’t alright to crawl into bed with someone and try to have sex with them. It wasn’t acceptable on _any_ terms.

Frank understood him and forgave him—even without saying it out loud—but he couldn’t make it look like it was acceptable. It was a blowjob tonight, but what was to stop it from being something more tomorrow? Nothing.

Gerard was a stranger. Gerard was different and odd and sheltered. Frank had no idea what he was capable of. He couldn’t invite more trouble…


	17. Where Good Intentions are Lost

Frank couldn’t help looking over his shoulder repeatedly as he dressed for work. Gerard hadn’t come anywhere near him since he’d gone to sleep on the couch the night before, and hadn’t even offered a good morning when Frank came out of his bedroom to start a pot of coffee. He was still lying on the couch, staring at the floor or the wall with a dazed, sad expression on his face. Clearly he was still upset about being rejected the night before, but honestly what had he expected to have happen?

The sad thing was, Frank knew the other man expected his tactic to work. He expected the exchange—the offering—to seal the deal between them. Gerard really thought he could seduce Frank into keeping him, not able to comprehend that Frank _couldn’t._ Whether Frank liked him or grew attached to him, he couldn’t stay in Frank’s apartment.

It was an obstruction of justice to knowingly hide a missing person, even if that person was of legal age. Until the case was closed, Frank was harboring a missing person—he was keeping Gerard’s family from reuniting with him. It was wrong on so many levels, but Gerard just couldn’t comprehend that. He was too damaged from all the abuse he’d endured to tell the difference between friendship and ownership, and probably didn’t think it was possible for Frank to visit with him after he returned home. 

It wasn’t Frank’s intention to _abandon_ him like his master had. He wanted to stay in his life and see him recover. He’d like the chance to see Gerard go off and be happy—have a family, maybe even kids.

After he changed his clothes, Frank opened his bedroom door again and ventured out into the kitchen area to pour himself a cup of coffee. Gerard still hadn’t moved and didn’t speak, even as Frank readied Sweet Pea for her morning walk. 

“Do you want to come with us?” Frank asked, knowing Gerard hated being outside more than anything else in the world. Of course he’d say no—and he did. Frank wasn’t surprised.

He hooked Sweet Pea to her leash and slowly made his way out of the apartment, not realizing it until he was already on the street below that he’d been hoping Gerard would get up and come with him. He had gotten used to having Gerard’s presence with him as he walked around the city streets. Even if Gerard cowered and flinched at everything, he still made Frank feel a hell of a lot safer than he did just walking around alone, waiting to be mugged by somebody. 

Hell, now he was afraid that Gerard’s brother might’ve stalked him to his apartment and could’ve been waiting for him on the streets to confront him. What would Frank be expected to do then? 

The thought occupied his mind for the duration of Sweet Pea’s walk. What would he do? Obviously he’d have to take the man upstairs to get Gerard… But who was to say it was really Gerard’s brother and not just an imposter? It had been years since Gerard had seen his family. How would he be able to recognize someone who had been a child when he’d gone away?

When Frank returned to the apartment, Gerard was finally up from the couch. He had made Frank oatmeal for his breakfast, but didn’t seem to want any himself. He sat at the table while Frank ate, scowling at Sweet Pea who stood on the table eating from her own bowl of kibble while wagging her stumpy little tail.

“Can I come to the diner with you today?” Gerard asked suddenly. 

“I work as a dishwasher today. I wouldn’t be able to have you there.”

“Oh… I could just drink coffee and draw. They’d think I was a customer. I-I’d stay in the corner out of sight.”

“I think you should stay inside today,” Frank said, not looking up from his bowl of oatmeal. 

“Can I please come with you, Master? I don’t want to be alone all day.”

“I think you need to stay here today. I’d be in the back my whole shift. I wouldn’t see you.”

“I don’t want to be alone, Master.”

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Frank said. He was losing his patience a little bit, hating that Gerard was willing to be so adamant about going against Frank’s wishes while making a point to call him “Master” as if he were acting the part of a slave with no input. 

“Can I please come with you?” 

“No. I need you to stay here and watch Sweet Pea.”

At the mention of her name, the little dog lifted her head and perked up her ears. Gerard, on the other hand, scowled at her even darker and crossed his arms over his chest in a defiant pout. 

“When I work as a server again, I’ll take you with me, alright? I’m not trying to be mean. I just don’t want you sitting where I can’t see you.”

“You can’t see me when you leave me alone here…”

“At least here I know you’re safe.”

“I’m not safe here,” Gerard muttered.

“Yes, you are. No one here is going to hurt you. No one can find you here.”

“It’s lonely here,” Gerard whispered, leaning forward and resting his head on the table like a child in the throes of a tantrum. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not alone. You have Sweet Pea.”

Gerard clicked his tongue irritably and laid more heavily against the table. He didn’t move again before Frank left the apartment to go to work.

( ) ( ) ( )

He hadn’t slept since it happened—since he’d seen _him_ sitting there in that lonely diner sketching away in a little black notebook. He noticed the man right away when he’d entered the diner, felt it like a bolt of electricity that traveled through his entire body, but couldn’t place who he was despite the foreboding sense of familiarity. It churned his stomach at first, but he told himself that it was probably the after effects of all the chemicals in his system from the night before. 

Frankly, he didn’t even remember walking to the diner or how he’d come to the decision to go there, but once he’d walked through the doors and laid eyes on _Gerard,_ every moment was branded into his brain with stunning vibrancy. 

He _knew_ it was his brother sitting there at the counter. He knew it without a doubt in his mind or his heart. The sick feeling he’d gotten when he walked in only grew worse as he’d sat in one of the far booths. His eyes kept sliding back over to the man at the counter, sitting hunched over his little book, drawing. 

Black hair. Dark clothes. Fair skin…

It wasn’t the first time Mikey had seen someone who reminded him so much of his lost brother, but it was the first time the resemblance had struck him so forcefully. This time it wasn’t a strange teenager on the bus or a kid walking through the aisles at the grocery store. It was a man who looked like Gerard might’ve looked if he’d actually survived the danger—if he’d actually lived through whatever ordeal caused his disappearance. 

The longer he’d sat in the booth staring, the more convinced Mikey became that it actually was his brother—that the sick feeling he had was his heart urging him to get closer, to make a move, before Gerard disappeared again. Nothing he could have done would have stopped Gerard from leaving the first time, but Mikey couldn’t let himself sit idly by again.

So he’d gotten up and moved to the bar where he ordered a coffee and toast while stealing glances of the man in black. Right away, the man noticed him and began to shrink in on himself, curling more protectively around his book. 

There was no mistaking it after that. The long hair, the nervous eyes, the pale skin. It was Gerard. Older, thinner, but Gerard all the same. 

Then Mikey had dared to speak his name. In an instant, Gerard had stood up and was gone. He sprinted from the diner, the server tried to follow him calling out his name as well. 

It was Gerard. 

For the first time in almost nine years, Mikey had seen his older brother. So why did Gerard run? There was recognition mixed in with the horror on his face when he’d stood up and run. He knew who Mikey was, so why did he leave without saying anything?

Mikey tried to get answers from the short server with the short black hair, but the man had argued with him and then the manager forced Mikey to leave. He looked around the streets for a while, but he couldn’t find Gerard or any trace of him.

That server knew who Gerard was. That server knew _something._ But when Mikey went back the next day to confront him, the man was nowhere to be seen and the manager was quick to chase him out again.

All Mikey had to go on was “Frank.”

“You stay away from here and stay away from Frank!” The manager had shouted as he escorted Mikey back out onto the street. 

Mikey had returned to wandering the streets in a sleepy daze, confused and hurting and feeling more lost than anything else. He’d ODed, then ran into his brother the next morning when he was trying to ward off the fog in his brain. It sounded like a fantasy and parts of him were starting to believe that it was, that it had never really happened—except for him terrorizing a waiter at a small diner. 

He didn’t know what to feel or how to feel, but at the root of it all he knew he couldn’t tell anyone what he’d seen. His parents would rip him apart for mentioning Gerard again (his father especially for upsetting his mother) and it wasn’t worth the drama if he couldn’t even bring his brother home. 

Mikey tried telling himself that it was enough to know Gerard was still alive and that he was nearby, but he couldn’t fall for it. He wanted to know why Gerard ran from him. He wanted to know where Gerard had been and why he’d been gone for so long if he was free to go where he pleased.

Yeah, life with their parents wasn’t easy, but he was a grown man now—it wouldn’t hurt him to come home and explain why he’d run off. It wasn’t like he could be grounded or punished again — not at twenty-four.

After two days without sleeping, Mikey had come to rest on the front steps of his ex-girlfriend’s apartment. He’d visited there almost every night for the past month, his feet guiding him to her door as if they didn’t realize he’d been kicked out of her life. Some nights he’d sit on the stoop and smoke with the other tenants when they came downstairs, others he’d walk past and gaze up at the illuminated windows wondering if she was home and if her lover was with her.

He probably was… He didn’t have classes he was supposed to attend and he worked when she slept so she never had to be alone. 

That was her biggest complaint—Mikey always left her alone, always made her feel abandoned.

But it wasn’t like he’d been out with other girls. He’d been in class; he’d gone to _work._

None of that mattered though. Not now. 

Mikey sat on the stoop of her building out of habit, but his mind was miles from her—years from her. He thought about Gerard and their childhood together. He remembered Gerard telling him scary stories and making it so he couldn’t sleep at night. He remembered Gerard helping him hide the dish Mikey had broken while rough-housing with a friend who’d come over. He remembered Gerard losing friends in school and getting bullied about his weight and his clothes and the length of his hair. He remembered Gerard sticking up for him when one of the bullies turned his attention to Mikey. 

He remembered Gerard being gone. He remembered Gerard coming home wasted and reeking of marijuana, and remembered their father beating him with the belt for it. 

He remembered watching Gerard sneak out and never seeing him again. 

Where had he gone? That question had plagued Mikey for years. Had he been murdered? Had he killed himself? Had he run away? Did he meet some _guy_ he didn’t want their conservative father to know about and run off with him? What _happened?_

Mikey hated that he’d almost had the chance to know and ruined it—even if he wasn’t certain of how.

He sat on the cold, cracked, concrete steps and stared at the black sky wondering if Gerard were watching it as well. He was somewhere in this city—somewhere nearby—and Mikey was beginning to wonder if Gerard had ever left it all. This whole time, after all the hours and energy and money spent trying to locate him, Gerard had been right under their noses.

But how had no one seen him? How had no one seen the fliers and recognized him as the boy who stole from their convenience store or offered to draw their portrait in the park? How had no one seen him if he’d been in plain sight all along?

“What happened, Gerard?” Mikey asked, his tired mind retracing so many memories at once—seeking any clue he might’ve missed before. All he could remember clearly, though, was the look of terror on his older brother’s face as he’d sprinted out of the diner and disappeared down the street.

What happened?

Suddenly, Mikey’s phone started to ring. The melody sounding so far away he almost missed the call.

“Hello?”

“Mikey, where _are_ you!?”

Maybe he should’ve missed the call. It was his mother and she sounded less than pleased with him for skipping their family dinner.

“Michael!”

“What? I’m out. What do you want?” Mikey asked, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.

“I want you to come home! Something’s happened. You need to get back home, alright?”

“What? What happened?” Mikey asked, his heart staring to pound.

Gerard came home; that had to be what had happened.

“There’s been an accident. You need to come home. Alright? I don’t want to discuss this over the phone.”

“An accident? Is Dad okay?” Mikey asked, standing up from the concrete steps and walking up the street in the direction of home.

“Your dad is fine, but we need you home.”

“Is it Gerard?” Mikey asked, unable to help himself. His hope was turning fast into sickness and he didn’t want to welcome that fear again.

“Oh, God, Mikey. Give it up. Just give it up! Get back home. _Now!”_

Mikey didn’t respond. He ended the call and stuffed his phone deep into the pocket of his jacket as he walked down the road, his jaw set with anger.

So it wasn’t Gerard… It was nothing good or positive. It never was.

( ) ( ) ( )

Something had gone wrong with Gerard. He’d been behaving oddly since the encounter with his brother, but it had only gotten worse from there. After refusing to take Gerard with him to work the next morning, the man had become avoidant—staying as far from Frank as possible in the tiny apartment, even at night when he used to claim he was too afraid to sleep alone.

Then, after two nights of sleeping on the couch, it happened. His night terrors made a comeback and he’d woken himself up screaming—he’d woken Frank up screaming—and had clawed himself in the face so viciously he’d drawn blood. Frank had tried to hold his hands down to get him to stop tearing at himself, but that just led to him lashing out even more.

Frank ended up getting hit across the cheek with the side of Gerard’s hand—a mixture between a slap and a punch—and shoved onto the ground before Gerard locked himself in the bathroom and started vomiting.

Frank stood outside the door waiting a long time for Gerard to calm down, but whenever he would knock or ask if his friend needed anything, Gerard would scream or yell at him to go away. 

“I’m not going away, Gerard. So please just open the door so I can talk to you,” Frank said, trying to sound gentle while his patience was slowly draining away. 

“No!” Gerard screamed, full of rage and defiance. 

“Gerard… Please. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Go away! I don’t want you here!”

“Gerard, stop…” Frank said, becoming firm in his tone though he was so tired that all he could do was lean his forehead against the door. He didn’t have the energy to try getting the lock to pop by shaking the door handle. 

“Leave me alone!”

“I just want you to open the door, Gerard. So we can talk.”

There came a few frantic, banging noises behind the door before the toilet flushed and Frank could hear Gerard getting to his feet. He thought the man was about to open the door for him, but it never happened.

“Gerard?”

“You can’t trick me anymore,” Gerard said, his voice overcome with a sob.

“What are you talking about? I’m not trying to trick you. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know who you are,” Gerard cried, his voice much louder now as he, too, pressed against the door from the other side.

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t _trick_ me anymore!” Gerard said before sobbing harder. “I know you! I _know you!”_

“Gerard… Gerard, calm down. What are you talking about?” Frank pulled back from the door a bit, his mind racing. Was he still having a night terror? Frank knew for a fact he’d never seen Gerard before, so how could the man possibly be insisting they knew one another? Even though Frank’s school had had a fair number of students, he surely didn’t remember an instance where one of them went missing. Gerard was just confused… Delusional. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Frank said quietly. “I’ve never met you before. How can you possibly remember me?”

Gerard said nothing, just stood on the other side of the door and cried.

“Please let me in… We can talk about this. You had a nightmare… You’re confused.”

“I-I know his face. I’ve seen it!”

“Gerard… You’re not making any sense! Would you _please_ let me in? Please!”

He didn’t expect his pleading to have any effect, but the door lock cracked a moment later and Gerard pulled the door open a bit so Frank could see his fearful eye peeking out.

“There you are,” Frank said, using the same tone he applied to Sweet Pea whenever she would become frightened and go into hiding. “Do you want me to bring you some water?”

“Coffee.”

“Okay—Yeah. I’ll get you some coffee,” Frank said, taken aback by the request. “I’ll… I’ll go brew it.”

He stepped away from the door, expecting to hear it slam shut again. Whether it did or not, Frank couldn’t tell as he tiredly went about brewing a pot of coffee. He yawned as he watched the black drink drip down from the filter, then stooped to pick up Sweet Pea when she yipped at him from the floor. He cradled her and kissed the top of her head, smiling as she licked his face and wiggled around in his arms.

Shortly after the coffee maker beeped, Frank gave Sweet Pea a final kiss and set her down on the floor. It startled him when he looked back up to see Gerard standing in the mouth of the hallway, staring at him.

“Oh! Hey… Yeah, the coffee is done. I would’ve brought it to you.”

Gerard was still staring at him, looking sad and confused and hurt.

“What, Sweetheart?” Frank asked, stepping over to him—keeping that same, gentle tone.

“I-I don’t know what’s happening right now,” Gerard stammered.

“Nothing’s happening. I’m making you coffee. Why don’t you sit down on the couch, hm?” Frank suggested.

“I-I… I know who you are,” Gerard repeated, tears falling from his eyes again.

“Who am I?” Frank asked, sighing softly as he looked Gerard over.

“I… I don’t know,” Gerard said, letting out a small cry. “But you look like him. You look just like him.”

“Like who?” Frank pushed.

“Master… T-Trainer. You look like him.”

“No—I’m not one of those people. I’d never hurt you like that, Gerard. You’re just confused, okay? Sit down. Let’s have some coffee.” Frank poured a cup, then carried it over to Gerard who he guided over to the couch to sit down. “There… That’s better, right? Let’s sit down for a while.”

Gerard sat on the middle cushion of the couch and cradled his mug of coffee in his lap, staring down at it as tears streaked down his face to gather on his chin. Frank couldn’t even begin to understand how he could go from looking so feral and vicious to so broken and lost.

“Do you want to talk about the nightmare?” Frank asked.

“Trainer… He was awful,” Gerard said quietly.

“He’s the one who took you from your family?”

“He took me… Sold me to Master. Tortured me… Hurt me for months—maybe a year…”

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Frank said, feeling pained even though he had no idea of what sick tortures that man could have put Gerard through to put him in such a state. It had to take a lot of effort to take the humanity out of a person and make them believe it was deserved and proper.

“I used to do cocaine… Back when I was fourteen. I met a dealer he…he really liked me. He called me his friend. I didn’t have another friend.” Gerard sniffed, then lifted the cup of coffee and took a drink. “He…invited me over one night and I snuck out. He let me do lines with him for free and I thought we were having a good time at this party… Then this guy comes in and sits next to Mack on the sofa and the guy hands Mack this big wad of cash. I thought he was just a middle man for Mack. I didn’t think anything of him. Then he came to sit by me and kept putting his hand on my back. I didn’t like it, but every time I looked at Mack he would nod at me—like he was telling me to just go along with it. I didn’t want to piss him off, you know? So I just sat there doing lines and then he grabbed me by the back of my neck. He yanked me up and I just remember it hurt so bad I couldn’t really breathe. Next thing I know I’m in the back of some car and he’s got a gun to my head.” Gerard paused to take a shaking breath, then he squeezed his eyes shut and took another drink of coffee. “He… He locked me up in this basement—cold place… It was dark all the time. I was chained up. He never fed me, never bathed me, nothing… He’d beat me… Hit me with belts and whips and just everything,” he choked. “H-He’d… He’d put things in me… Call me names… I-I didn’t know what to do. Nothing I did ever made him stop.”

Frank found himself slowly rubbing his hand up and down Gerard’s spine, trying to comfort him though he couldn’t tell if it did anything for his friend or not. Gerard was crying, occasionally choking on his words.

“He’d beat me until I learned to quit talking. I didn’t speak again until I was sold to Master—except to say ‘yes, Master,’ ‘no, Master.’ I wasn’t worthy of talking. What could a stupid slut have to say, anyway?”

“You have every right to talk, Gerard,” Frank said.

“I want the nightmares to stop… I don’t want to remember those things anymore. I don’t want this life anymore.”

“It’ll get better… We—We’ll get you better. You’re out of that bad place and he’ll never hurt you again. No one will.”

“You _say_ that, but you—” Gerard cut himself off, then looked at Frank almost fearfully. “Promise me this isn’t a trick. Please, please promise me.”

“I promise—Gerard, I _promise,”_ Frank said, slowly placing his fingers under Gerard’s chin to get him to look him in the eye. “I will never hurt you. Never.”

Gerard stared at him, sadly, tears still rimming his eyes before—all at once—he leaned forward and his lips were pressed to Frank’s again and the mug of coffee was given a place on the floor. His lips were warm and soft and needy as they worked against Frank’s mouth. 

It wasn’t like before—it wasn’t harsh or rushed. This time, Gerard was gentle—desperate in a different way—and somehow it had Frank leaning forward, moving his hand from Gerard’s chin to the back of his neck. 

Gerard let out a quiet sound, something between a whimper and moan as he pressed forward, his hand finding the front of Frank’s shirt and holding it. The next thing he knew, Gerard’s other hand was coming forward as well, trailing south and groping him. Sparks of pleasure went off behind his eyes and he bucked forward into the touch, reaching forward as well and putting his hand on Gerard’s thigh before slowly, slowly sliding it into the bend of his hip. 

Gerard pressed up against him in return, moaning again before climbing forward and moving to straddle Frank’s hips on the couch, barely breaking their kiss as he moved. He kept making soft, fluttery sounds as he ran his hands over Frank’s chest and the crotch of his pants. 

This was wrong. 

Frank had the thought for only a fraction of a second before Gerard had dropped to his knees on the floor in front of him.

“No—No, no,” Frank said, pushing the other man’s hands away as he tried to undo the button of his jeans. Gerard’s head snapped up, his eyes showing fear again as he panted out heavy breaths. “Come here. Lay up here. C’mon,” Frank said, sliding to sit further toward the arm of the couch.

Gerard slowly complied, his eyes never leaving Frank even as his back rested against the couch cushions and Frank had climbed over top of him. Frank kissed him softly, taking the time to stroke his cheek and then run his fingers through the man’s long, silky hair. 

God, he was beautiful, wasn’t he? And so soft…

They chose their victim well—able to gauge at age fifteen that he would turn into an adult so irresistible even in his lowest state.

Gerard was shaking, but he kept making needy sounds as Frank pressed their hips together. He’d been free for a while now, Frank thought to himself. Surely by this point he knew what he wanted and what he didn’t. Right?

He must’ve liked it when Frank sucked on his neck because his hands began clutching at Frank’s shoulders. He must’ve liked it as Frank trailed lower, pressing kisses to his chest and his stomach. He certainly liked it when Frank undid the button and zip of his pants as he let out a deep moan of pleasure as soon as his length was set free. 

“Has anyone ever done this for you before?” Frank asked as he wrapped his hand around Gerard’s cock and stroked it once, slowly.

“M-Marcus… Once,” Gerard whimpered, not able to show any modesty—not permitting himself to withhold an answer from the man he perceived to be his master.

“What about…this?” Frank asked before opening his mouth and sliding his tongue along the underside of Gerard’s hot cock.

Gerard squealed, his entire body going rigid before relaxing completely against the couch. Frank glanced up, the tip of his tongue slowly circling the head, and found himself smirking as his eyes met Gerard’s. 

“Or this?” Frank asked before sucking the tip into his mouth.

Gerard gasped and fisted his hands into the couch—one into the arm behind his head and the other clutching the cushion beneath him. He didn’t speak, even as Frank sucked more and more into his mouth—never taking his eyes off of Gerard’s face.

He squirmed the entire time, moaning and gasping as Frank sucked him, stroking with his hand what his mouth couldn’t fit.

Gerard lasted less than three minutes before his cock began throbbing against Frank’s tongue. Frank continued sucking, allowing Gerard’s seed to fill his mouth before pulling back and going to spit in the sink. As soon as he stepped away though, Gerard began whimpering almost brokenly—the sounds somehow still beautiful and appealing.

Frank returned to the couch after getting a drink of water, and smiled down at the breathless man who stared up at him—slack-jawed and pink in the face, hands still clutching onto the couch as if for dear life. 

His eyes scanned down Gerard’s chest to his open fly. They lingered a moment before he returned to where he had been on the floor in order to fix up Gerard’s pants. 

“There… That’s better, isn’t it?” Frank said, moving Gerard’s legs in order to reclaim his seat on the couch.

The other man was staring at him, still panting, with a strange look on his face. An odd sort of surprise.

Gerard slowly sat up and moved to rest with his head against Frank’s shoulder, trembling a little until Frank put an arm around his shoulders. 

“That’s better too, huh?” Frank said, kissing the top of Gerard’s head as the man nestled against him. Better for one of them at least, Frank thought shifting his legs uncomfortably in an attempt to relieve the pressure. 

What was he going to do now?—Now that rational thought was starting to trickle back into his head. He warded the thoughts off with a kiss placed on Gerard’s temple, earning him a sleepy moan from his…

What was he? His _friend?_ His little _pet?_

“I love you,” Gerard said, pressing into Frank’s side. 

Frank smiled at him, trying to think of something to say back only to be cut off by Gerard.

“I love you, Master.”

And just like that, Frank’s smile fell away. His generosity and moment of passion started to feel like a ploy, even to himself. And though it had never been his intention, Frank started to feel as if Gerard had been taken advantage of…


	18. Where Reunions Can Not Be Avoided

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the looooong delay! Just know I drove to a McDonalds and poached free wifi as soon as this chapter was finished in order to share it right away. Yes, that's right. Jatty doesn't have internet anymore.... I really hope you enjoy this update! Let me know you're still there!

“I talked to God,” his grandmother said. She appeared so weak and frail, laying in the small hospital bed hooked up to countless wires and tubes. More machine than woman… Mikey couldn’t bear to look at her. “I talked to God,” she said again, a sleepy smile on her pale lips.

“What did He have to say?” Mikey asked from his seat beside her bed. He had his head in his hands, staring at the floor. Every now and then, his fingers grew minds of their own and tangled in the long, blonde stands and would twist and pull and rip until the tremors ran their course.

“I talked to Him. You’d best believe I talked with Him.”

“What did He say?” Mike asked again, knowing it was useless. She was delirious and had so many different medications pumping through her veins to numb all the pain she was in that it was a surprise she was even awake at all.

“A wonderful thing.”

“And what’s that?” Mike asked, finally lifting his head. It startled him when he saw that she turned her head to face him. Her eyes were shining the way he used to remember—the way they did when he’d been a child and her cancer had yet to manifest. 

“He asked me to come to Him. He said if I came to Him the pain would stop.”

The words cut Mikey deeper than he expected and he immediately had to drop his head again to hide the tears which stung his eyes. She smiled so sweetly as she spoke, as if the thought of her own death tasted of honey on tongue. 

“I told Him I would go if He sent my grandson to me. I told Him I was ready to see my grandson again. Do you know what He said, Michael?”

“No, Grandma; I don’t,” Mikey said, his voice breaking. 

“He said, ‘then you’ll have to stay a little bit longer.’ Don’t you see? God is merciful. He’s going to send my grandson to me. Oh, your mother’s going to be so happy to see him.”

Mikey’s stomach was twisting in knots, her words striking him over and over like blows to his unprotected guts. He thought of how he’d seen Gerard in the diner—or the dream he’d had of him—and felt the tremors coming on again. This was all too much to bear sober. 

“What’s wrong? Don’t you believe me? God’s going to send him. He promised me. God’s going to send him. Gerard is going to come see me.”

“I know,” Mikey said, just to make her stop. He looked up at her and forced a smile through his tears. “I saw him. He’ll come, Grandma.”

“You saw him?” She asked, the smile leaving her face as a look of shock overcame her.

“Yeah. A while ago at a diner. He looked alright.”

“Did you speak to him? What did he say?” She was becoming too anxious, her fingers wiggling against the wires hooked to their tips restlessly. “Where has he been.”

Her excitement set off the heart monitors and it was only moments before a nurse came in and asked Mikey to leave, adding something to his grandmother’s IV as she made her command. 

“He said he’ll be here soon, but you need to get some rest. I love you,” Mike said, unable to bring himself to kiss her cheek or give her hand a parting squeeze before he stood from the chair and fled from the hospital room as quickly as Gerard had fled that diner. 

He couldn’t handle this sober.

He needed to find Gerard, but first he needed a fix.

( ) ( ) ( )

A week had passed and Frank had yet to come to any decisions regarding Gerard. He couldn’t bring himself to involve the police. He couldn’t bear the thought of turning someone he’d touched so intimately over to strangers in hopes he’d be fine. Ever since he’d reciprocated Gerard’s evocative touches, he’d been haunted by the thought of him. He began having nightmares, he began losing more sleep than he already had to the disruptive cries and groans of the man beside him in bed.

Frank knew he’d crossed a line when he’d gotten on his knees for Gerard. He knew it so plainly, yet in the moment it had been the most enticing idea he’d ever had. It seemed right then—just as it had seemed proper for Gerard to respond to the gesture with words of affection, of love. 

If only he hadn’t brought his master into it…

Why, oh why, did he have to say “I love you, Master”? Why couldn’t he have said “I love you” and left it at that?

He’d gone a week avoiding Ray, avoiding texts and calls and knocks at his door. He’d gone a week without seeing the strange man, Gerard’s brother, at his diner.

But he knew that that wouldn’t last. Ray he could avoid for months if he needed. The stranger, he could not. 

It didn’t surprise him at all when he was walking alone to work one morning, Sweet Pea safely at home with a sleepy and compliant Gerard, and spotted the man waiting for him outside the diner.

“Frank,” the man said.

“It’s Mikey, right?” Frank said, nodding his head in what he hoped to come off as a greeting.

“Where is he?” The man asked, his eyes hidden behind black sunglasses. 

“Safe,” Frank answered. He knew nothing about this man’s relationship with his brother—whether they’d been close or distant, whether their family was kind or cruel. All he had to go off of was Gerard’s immediate reaction of fear and the fact that Mikey’s lips and fingers were twitching as if he were in the throes of, or coming down from, some high.

“Why isn’t he with you?”

“He’s probably home sleeping,” Frank said, shrugging. “I have to go in.”

“I’ll come with you,” the man said, holding the door for Frank somewhat aggressively, the gaze from his hidden eyes feeling heavy and dark. It sent shivers down Frank’s spine as he entered the diner and clocked in. 

Mikey seated himself at the bar and waited ten minutes for Frank to bring him coffee, refusing when anyone else offered.

“I expect to see my brother.”

“I don’t care whether he sees you or not,” Frank said, trying to play it cool even though his heart was pounding in his chest like a hammer.

“I haven’t seen him in nine years. You’re hiding him. I don’t know why, but you’re hiding him and if you don’t take me to see him, I’m going to have the cops investigate you. Because my brother has been missing for _nine years!_ And you’re hiding him!” His volume went from a soft murmur to full blown shouting in a matter of seconds. 

The manager came out and, recognizing Mikey, demanded that he leave at once—then scolded Frank for giving him service in the first place. Frank watched as Gerard’s brother stormed out the front doors, not paying for his untouched coffee, and rounded the street corner. 

Eight and a half hours later he reemerged from the same direction just as Frank stepped outside to go home.

“Where is he?” Mikey asked.

“You want to see him?” Frank asked, his resolve slowly chipped away after spending the day on edge—waiting for the man to barge back in and cause another scene.

“What the fuck have I been saying?”

“I want to help you, but it’s up to Gerard. I can’t just bring you back to my apartment and hand him over to you. It won’t work like that. He can’t handle that right now.”

“So he is living with you,” the man said, very definitively—as if he’d decided on something Frank knew nothing about.

“He stays with me,” Frank said cautiously. “If you want to see him… If—If he wants to see you, let’s just plan something. We’ll meet for coffee or something.”

“I will see my brother. I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but I _will_ see him tonight.”

“Not tonight,” Frank said, narrowing his eyes and trying to summon the sternness he’d forced into himself that night at the auction. He didn’t know Gerard’s brother or his past or really anything about either of them. He didn’t know if Mikey had done something to harm Gerard in the past or if he was a danger to Gerard now. After all, he twitched like a junkie and seemed to have no issue causing a scene when he felt it was justified.

But then again, Frank would probably act the same way if his loved one reappeared after most of a decade. He’d be adamant about getting answers, too.

“Why are you keeping him from us? What the hell did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Oh no? Because my brother wouldn’t act like that, alright?! My brother wouldn’t run away from me if he weren’t scared of something. You keep him close so you can watch him. What is he to you? Your drug mule? What?!”

“I keep him safe! I keep him safe from people like you!” Frank yelled, not willing to cower and take the abuse. What if he brought this man to Gerard, only to have him do damage? What if he pulled Gerard from Frank’s safe home and put him back on the streets, got him back into drugs?

That wasn’t what Gerard _needed._ Frank had to keep him safe.

“People like me?”

“Yes, people like you! People who stay out all night getting high and then twitch all damned day because they haven’t gotten their next fix. Yes, I keep him safe from people like you.”

All at once, Mikey’s face became stern and vacant of all other emotion. “You don’t know anything about me,” he said, his voice cold.

“And you don’t know anything about Gerard,” Frank said, staring the other man down. “Anything you remember about him, you may as well just forget it. Because that kid is gone, alright? And you coming around strung out on God knows what is just going to set him back… So no, you won’t see him tonight. But if you lay off the drugs for a night, maybe you can see him tomorrow.”

“We’ll meet at the Spring Street Starbucks at noon. It’s by my campus and I have a break between classes. Bring Gerard. Let me see my brother.”

“I’ll do what I can, but I’m not promising anything. If he’s too afraid to come, I won’t force him.”

“He’s got no reason to be afraid of me,” Mikey said, his lips twitching with a legitimate frown. “The last time I saw him, I was twelve. He’s my big brother. I looked up to him. I want answers—I want him back in my life.”

“I said I’ll do what I can…” And with that, Frank started back for his apartment.

“Spring Street!” Mikey called after him. “Noon!”

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard had never felt more conflicted in his life. He felt as if he were choking, unable to swallow down the lump in his throat—his heart beating so hard he wondered if it somehow had leapt up into this throat and become stuck.

“Are you okay?” Frank asked him, rubbing his shoulder.

Gerard choked a few more times, tears rushing his eyes. Frank was throwing him out—trading him off… Abandoning him. 

“Hey… Hey, no no. Don’t cry. It’s alright.” Frank was trying to comfort him, trying to hold him, but gerard kept pulling back from him. 

“Wh-Why?” Gerard sobbed, wiping frantically at his cheeks, trying to hide how upset he was even though he knew it was useless.

“Gerard, he’s not going to stop until he sees you. You don’t have to go anywhere or stay with him, but I think… I think you need to see your family. Don’t you miss them at all?”

“I don’t want them, I want you!” Gerard could hold back no longer and began sobbing, burying his face in his hands. Everything felt as if it were falling apart when he’d had such high hopes forming about his future here.

Now Frank was about to throw him away. Why buy him just to throw him out? Why did Frank have to fight so hard to convince gerard that he wasn’t like Master just to turn him away like He had? It made gerard sick to his stomach and he wanted to get up and go to the bathroom, but his body was shaking so hard he knew he wouldn’t make it.

How could Frank do this to him?

“Gerard… I’m sorry, but you have to at least talk to him. Don’t you want your family to know you’re okay?”

“No! I want to stay here! I don’t want to go back!” Underneath the sorrow that was swallowing him whole, gerard felt the bitterness seeping in. He felt betrayed and quickly his affection for Frank was turning to resentment. He found himself welcoming the fire of that slowly brewing hatred, found himself preferring it to the pain he was in and the sadness he felt. 

So, when Frank put an arm around him trying to offer some sort of support, gerard snapped. He jerked away from Frank’s touch, lips curling back into a sneer as he shoved Frank away from him. He put as much force into the push as he could, not satisfied when he merely earned a confused grunt from his useless keeper. When Frank readjusted in his seat, raising his voice at gerard about being disrespectful, gerard struck him hard across the mouth—hard enough that the palm of his hand burned as if it had been singed. 

“What the fuck is your problem!?” Frank snapped, returning gerard’s harsh scowl. 

Gerard’s only reply was to shove him again until this time Frank ended up on the floor. The rage and hurt in his heart burned so strongly, provoking him to shout out words he didn’t even remember the moment they passed his lips.

And then, as if it had all been a trick of his mind, the anger disappeared. All of the fire was gone and gerard was left standing over Frank’s body, shivering with cold, as the Chihuahua barked desperately from across the room—too afraid to intervene and with good cause. Frank was staring up at him, eyes wide and with a trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

No wonder Master wanted rid of him. No wonder Frank wanted him gone. 

Then gerard was sobbing, terrified instead of angry and feeling so, so cold. He was going to end up out on the streets, with no way to get by… Unless he traded himself for places to sleep and who knew how long he’d survive trying to live like that. 

“Gerard… Hey. It’s fine. Okay? You’re fine—it’s fine. Sit down, okay?” And there was Frank, slowly pushing him down onto the couch as if nothing had happened. “You’re okay. Just calm down.”

“M-Master, I-I… I-I’m sorry,” gerard stammered, feeling as if he were about to be crushed by the walls closing in on him. It was getting harder to breathe and all he could hear was that dog barking—barely making out the words Frank said.

“Sweet Pea! Hush!”

The dog barked a little more, then went quiet… And then it was too quiet.

“Gerard, what’s going on with you? Why don’t you want to see your family? Did they… Did they do something to you? Did they hurt you? Did they…”

“No, Master,” gerard whispered. 

“Hey, I’m not your master. You know that. Don’t… Don’t be scared. I know you’re stressed. I’m not mad.” Frank’s hands were on his shoulders, rubbing them gently as he knelt before gerard on the floor. “It’s okay, Gerard.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” gerard stammered, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. He felt as if the temperature of the room had dropped twenty degrees and he couldn’t cease shivering, even when Frank moved to sit next to him and put an arm around him.

“Gerard, listen… I know you’re scared right now and I would be too. I know that you’re worried I’m going to just give you up to these people because they’re you’re family, but I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to put you somewhere if I don’t know that you’re going to be safe. I took you in… I want to make sure that you’re safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you—to know that you’re safe.”

Gerard couldn’t answer him. He was still shaking and crying, not even sure why he’d become so emotional in the first place. Deep down he could remember his family—in the furthest parts of his memory—but he resisted the idea of returning to them with all his might.

Part of it was because of his training and he knew that. Part of it was due to the beatings he’d earned from Trainer any time he mentioned escaping or having a family that was looking for him. 

Another part of him knew he was afraid to leave—he was afraid of what the “real world” would have in store for him if he left the familiarity of being kept. Of being kept by Frank particularly. He had no responsibilities here—no job to upkeep, no payments to stress over if things went wrong. Here, he relied solely on Frank, and Frank never caused harm or failed to provide. 

Gerard didn’t want kicked out and made to work. He could barely walk the dog without having a panic attack. How was he supposed to hold down a job?

He wanted to stay here with Frank. He wanted to tend to his Keeper and take care of the house while he was gone. 

“I just want you to see Mikey. We’re going to meet for coffee, okay? That’s it. Just coffee. I’m not going to say anything about how I found you or where you’ve been. That’s your business, alright? He doesn’t have to know anything—”

“He’s going to ask…”

“I know. It’s hard, I know, but you have to see him. Imagine what he’s been going through, not knowing if you were dead or alive all these years.”

“He’s going to try to make me go with him. I don’t want to go…”

“I won’t let him take you, okay? It’s just going to be coffee and we part ways. You’ll come home with me and he’ll go home—”

“And he’ll tell my parents and they’ll make me go with them. I-I don’t want to do this. Why are you doing this to me?”

Gerard couldn’t get an answer out of Frank. He just kept saying the same things over and over—reassuring him that he wouldn’t have to go with Mikey or his parents if he didn’t want to.

Frank didn’t seem to realize that he didn’t have a say in it at all. 

It was a bad idea. It was such a bad, bad idea…

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey forced himself to go to the Starbucks sober. He didn’t even allow himself a shot of liquid courage before he left his parent’s house. He owed it to Gerard to be sober. He had to have his wits about him to handle what was about to happen. His brother had bolted the first time they’d seen each other and Mikey wanted to be able to catch him if it were to happen again. 

Staying sober didn’t mean he couldn’t load himself up with the legal drug of caffeine. He already had three cups of dark roast by the time he saw Frank through the door. Mikey had selected his seat that morning at six a.m., the moment the doors to the coffee shop opened, and claimed the middle table facing the doors for this exact purpose. Behind the large sticker on the glass, he could see another man at Frank’s side fidgeting and twitching.

Frank was saying something soothing, Mikey able to hear his tone of voice through the glass doors though not discern the words. Following Frank’s voice came the hectic sound of nervous complaints.

Gerard…

That was the sound of Gerard’s voice.

Mikey wrung his hands and, twisting his fingers together, began knocking his knuckles on the table nervously as he stared at the door. He could feel his breaths becoming short and he suddenly felt his arms and wrists shaking with either nerves or from all the caffeine he’d consumed. 

Frank pulled the door open, and then he and Gerard were in full view. 

Gerard. So much older and leaner…sickly thin compared to how robust he used to be. Kids picked on him for being overweight but Mikey preferred that look over what he was seeing now. Gerard’s cheekbones were jutting out and his troubled eyes looked so sunken.

Perhaps he had just slipped off into the world of drugs… But then why hadn’t Mikey run into him before that day in the diner? He’d certainly gone into some of the darkest corners of their city. How far away could Gerard have traveled that Mikey never once heard word of him or caught a glimpse of him?

As the two men entered the coffee shop, Mikey got to his feet—banging his knees loudly and unflatteringly on the table. Frank offered him a pitying smile but Gerard continued to look horrified as he was lead toward the table by Frank’s firm hand wrapped around his arm. 

“Gerard,” Mikey said when his brother was only a few paces away. 

Immediately, Gerard stopped walking and began to resist, trying to twist his arm out of Frank’s grip to move back toward the door.

“No, come on,” Frank said quietly. “It’s okay. Come on. We talked about this, okay? You’re alright.”

Why would Gerard be afraid of him like this? Why was his older brother squirming to get away from Frank like a frightened toddler? 

“Gerard?” Mikey said again, stepping a little closer. 

All at once, Gerard’s eyes were locked on his—that same fear occupying them—and he ceased struggling. The more Mikey looked at him, the less he saw Gerard. 

He felt he was looking at a stranger wearing a cheap imitation of his older brother’s face. 

Frank began leading him closer, then patted Gerard’s shoulder once he was standing directly before his brother. 

“I’m going to get us coffee, alright? Just…be calm. You’re alright.” Frank spoke as if Mikey weren’t even there; he didn’t even address him before going over to the counter to order. 

“Well… Well, sit down,” Mikey said, gesturing to the chair beside his own as he slowly sank into his seat. 

Gerard looked nervously around the shop, then delicately pulled out the wooden chair as if he were afraid he would break it, then sat down just as gently. He kept his eyes on the table and was breathing just as heavily as Mikey—a nervous wreck.

Mikey didn’t even know what to say to him, what to ask… Nor did he know if Gerard would even answer him, or if he could. 

“M-Mikey…” Gerard spoke his name as if it were glass in his mouth, cutting him and hurting him.

“What is it?” Mikey asked, keeping his voice hushed. His brother met his gaze for only a moment, some dark secret behind his eyes. “What happened to you? What did… What did _he_ do to you?” Mikey asked, glancing over at Frank just briefly. 

“He saved me. Please don’t make him leave me. I don’t want to go.” He spoke heavily, but his words made no sense to Mikey at all. Saved him? Didn’t want to leave him? This wasn’t the strong headed teen Mikey remembered. To him, his brother appeared broken. 

“What do you mean he saved you? From what? From… From who? Tell me.” Mikey glanced over his shoulder again, watching Frank stand at the end of the counter waiting for his drink, holding a cup of plain coffee in one hand. “Gerard, just tell me.”

Gerard stared at him, then glanced at Frank. He shook his head and lowered it. Moments later Frank slid out his chair and sat down across from Gerard at the table, seated on Mikey’s right.

“Do either of you want to tell me what’s going on?” Mikey asked, feeling slighted somehow that his brother wouldn’t tell him anything with detail. 

Frank looked at Gerard, Gerard stared at his lap, Mikey looked back and forth between them until Frank finally spoke. 

“Gerard and I talked last night… He doesn’t want to say too much about where he’s been. He’s afraid you might judge him and he doesn’t want to be taken back home to your parents.”

“Why? Where did you go?” Mikey asked, looking at Gerard. Anger was bubbling up in his chest, years of pent of anxiety and fear and confusing morphing into hatred directed as his brother who refused him any explanation. “Say. Something,” Mikey barked.

Gerard looked at him, his lips parted like he wanted to speak though no words came out.

“Would you just say _something?_ Did you leave? Did you get lost? Did you meet some guy and move somewhere?—I wouldn’t blame you. Dad’s a prick, but you could’ve called me. You could’ve written me or reached out. Shit, Gerard. You’re my brother. I wouldn’t have sold you out to him if you found some guy to live with.”

“I-I… I didn’t mean to go.” He spoke the words, then immediately got up from the table, stumbled, and ran for the bathroom. Frank gazed after him, looking worried, but didn’t follow.

“Shit… He’s been throwing up all morning. He’s a nervous wreck. He’s terrified you’re going to make him go back home… I think that would be what’s best for him, but he doesn’t want to go.”

“So he’s living with you?”

“Yes. For—For now. I… I don’t mean to _keep_ him. You know? I’m trying to get him used to the idea of going home. He doesn’t want to though. He’s messed up… He’s really messed up.”

“Why? I’m sick of this shit already and we just started, okay? That’s my brother in there puking his guts out,” Mikey said, gesturing toward the bathrooms. “Why? Tell me why.”

“Look, I don’t know much and I don’t want to say his business—”

“That’s my brother! He’s been missing eight years! He’s my business, too! If you know something, tell me. Anything. Where has he been? What the hell’s he been doing? Coke? Meth? Heroin? What?” He was so agitated by Frank’s silence. He was craving more than caffeine and it was getting him even more irritable by the second. “Look at me, okay? Do I look like I’m going to judge?”

“He… He was taken by some men. I don’t know much. He doesn’t like to remember it.”

“For what? Taken for what?” In the back of his mind, Mikey was still thinking drugs. Maybe he’d gotten sucked into that culture just like Mikey had and they could talk about it. Maybe that would be their way to get close again—talk about what lead them to it. Maybe they could help each other… 

Frank took a deep breath, then took a long drink from his grande bullshit latte. 

“He…was taken for sex. They used him for sex. That’s… That’s how we met. I… I saved him. I bought him so they wouldn’t kill him. That’s why he’s so messed up. That’s why he doesn’t know how to talk to you. He couldn’t talk to me either the first few nights.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Mike asked, not realizing he’d crushed his coffee cup until his fist felt wet. “You’re fucking my brother, is that what you’re telling me? You bought him as a goddamned prostitute?” It was hard to keep his voice down, but Mikey managed using the last of his self control.

“I know how it sounds,” Frank said, looking at the table instead of Mikey. “I swear that’s _not_ my intention—it was _never_ my intention. I was lost in the city, that’s all. I was just trying to get drunk where they wouldn’t card me. I ended up crossing paths with him. He’s a mess. Those guys did horrible shit to him. He doesn’t say much, but I can tell. Anyone can tell… He doesn’t know how to talk to people. He can’t handle crowds…”

“So they used him as some kind of prostitute and you bought him for keeps?”

“More or less… He lived with one guy, though. I know that. Some rich sadist. He has three other people in his house… He sold Gerard because…because the man he sent to babysit his prisoners when he was gone… Well, you get the idea.”

Mikey didn’t know what to say. The words he was hearing were so far from anything he’d ever imagined in all the years he’d spent wondering what had become of Gerard. Kidnapped? Used for sex? Sold like an animal? 

He didn’t want to hear it from Frank. He wanted to hear it from Gerard. He wanted to know that this punk kid with a faux-hawk wasn’t the one who had taken him.

Mikey stood from the table without saying anything and rushed to the bathroom. He found Gerard hovering over this sink, his knuckles white as his fingers clutched the counter. He was sobbing and choking and his nose was bleeding though Mikey couldn’t even fathom why. 

“Gerard? Hey… What’s wrong?” Mikey asked, closing the door and stepping a little closer to his brother. 

Gerard didn’t answer. He was struggling to control his breaths and to quit crying, but failing. 

“I won’t make you come back home with me. Okay? If you want to stay with him that’s fine. Okay? I just want back in your life—I want to know what happened. I won’t make you leave him. He’s good to you right?” Mikey hated what he was saying, but if Gerard trusted Frank—if staying with Frank made him feel safe and kept him from panicking—then Mikey had to accept it.

“Don’t take me,” Gerard sobbed. “I can’t…”

“I won’t. I just want to see you. I want to know where you went…”

“I made a mistake. I made a mistake—I’m sorry,” Gerard cried, ducking his head again. Blood dripped down onto the sink from his nose. 

“It’s okay, Gerard. It’s over now, right? You’re safe with Frank?” 

If he said no, if he gave any indication that Frank was trying to manipulate the situation, Mikey would kill that man himself.

“I love him. Don’t take me from him. I can’t be without my master. I need him.” Gerard looked up at him then—face red, flushed, covered in blood, snot, and tears. He was a pitiful mess… A pitiful mess who had just called Frank his ‘master.’


	19. Where Dreams Might Be Real

Frank wanted to say he was angry with Gerard for causing a scene like he had, but it was almost impossible for him to be mad at the other man. Mikey had brought him back out of the bathroom, a very cold glare in his eyes, and sat him down at the table. Gerard’s nose was bloody and he sat in the wooden chair crying to himself and staring at his coffee cup. He never took a sip from it the entire time he sat there. Mikey demanded more answers, Gerard cried, Frank looked to him for permission to say anything in detail… It was a disaster. Mikey looked like he wanted to murder Frank but never gave any hint as to why his entire demeanor changed after he brought Gerard back from the bathroom. 

Now they were all three back at Frank’s apartment. Gerard was curled up in Frank’s bed, hiding from his brother, and Mikey was anxiously pacing the open space of the living room. 

He wanted more answers and Frank’s resolve was slowly being chipped away. Mikey wasn’t going to be satisfied with the few threads of information he had, and he made it clear he wasn’t leaving Gerard’s side until he was positive Frank had nothing to do with his brother’s capture or disappearance. 

It didn’t matter to Mikey if Frank, too, had been a child when Gerard disappeared. He still seemed to feel that Frank had more involvement than a Good Samaritan trying to save Gerard’s life. 

“Would you just say _something?_ ” Mikey barked. 

“I’ve told you what happened. It’s all I know. Someone took him… They hurt him and sold him and that guy sold him to me. I didn’t mean to be there. I didn’t know what was going on. But when I saw him, I couldn’t leave him there. I was scared. I did what I had to.”

“And you never thought to take him to the police? He could’ve been brought home before he got attached to you. I’m not stupid. I’m not buying what’s going on here. He told me he wouldn’t leave his _master._ That’s _you._ You were there to buy him. You’re just as sick as them so stop trying to make yourself look innocent because you’re not!”

“I didn’t tell the cops because I was afraid of what those men would do if they caught me! He wasn’t like he is now when I first brought him here. He didn’t talk, he just cried. I didn’t take him in because I knew… I knew the cops were just going to pin the whole thing on me, and this isn’t my fault! I saved him. And yeah, he calls me Master but that’s because he’s fucked in the head. He can’t tell the difference between those men and a friend. He’s… He’s messed up. He’s lost. If he wasn’t, he would’ve been happy to see you. Right? If there wasn’t something wrong with him, then he would want to go home with you. I can’t explain why he’s attached to me or doesn’t want to go with you. I don’t know why he ran that first time he saw you. But tell me this, if I were his kidnapper—if all I wanted was to hurt him—why would I take him outside? Why would I encourage him to see you? Don’t you think I’d want him isolated? Don’t you think I’d want him to feel alone and like you and your family don’t care about him? Ask yourself that before you accuse me again.”

Mikey stopped pacing and glared at Frank a moment before looking toward the bedroom. 

“I’m going to try talking to him again,” he said before starting toward the bedroom. Frank sighed heavily, knowing it was all such a bad idea. Gerard was distressed and cornering him was just going to upset him even more. But telling Mikey that wouldn’t change anything. 

“I tried taking him to the hospital right after the sale. They wouldn’t help him… I have receipts to prove it. If I wanted to keep him, why would I take him to an ER?” Frank asked, trying one last time to prove his innocence. 

Mikey just stared at him then went into the bedroom and closed the door. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard remembered his first night with Trainer. He remembered being high out of his mind and scared to death. He remembered his clothes getting ripped off, his hair being yanked and tugged… He remembered the man’s wiry beard—black. Dark black hair slicked back. Reflective black sunglasses. 

He never took them off. No matter how dim it was in the basement, he never took off his glasses.

Gerard remembered being reduced to a sniveling mess. He started off so tough—talking shit and trying to throw punches only land in the dirt where he was kicked and stomped and smashed. 

Trainer took off his belt and gerard, still just a snot-nosed kid trying to act tough, had spat out his rendition of “is that the best you’ve got?” 

“What are you going to do? Spank me?” He snapped, not yet understanding why a grown man would want a boy his age stripped and locked in his basement. He’d been naïve. He’d been innocent…

Trainer whipped him with that belt until his skin split open, until every inch of his fatty flesh was tinted pink or red or black. His face was spared. His neck was spared. Most of his chest had been protected by his arms when he wasn’t trying to shield his groin. His palms were bloodied, the soles of his feet bore gashes that made it hurt to stand. 

When the beating stopped, Trainer disappeared up the stairs of the cellar. Gerard had half a moment to think the torture was over. Then the man returned not ten minutes later with two large buckets in each hand. They weighed him down as he descended the stairs. 

Those footsteps… Those ominous, heavy, _loud_ footfalls were at the start of so many nightmares. 

_Thwump._

_Thwump._

_Thwump._

The stairs groaned. The leather of Trainer’s boots squeaked. The buckets sloshed.

“Do you know what this is?” He asked.

Gerard was still curled up in a little ball, sobbing and cradling his wounded hands to his chest. He didn’t dare open his eyes. Trainer kicked him; gerard looked at him and sniffled. 

One of the buckets was steaming. It was cold in the basement, but not that cold…

One bucket of scalding hot water was splashed over him—burning him and choking him. He screamed as it happened, unwittingly allowing the hot water into his mouth where it seared his tongue. He tried to crawl away, his body lethargic and shaking as he dragged himself a few inches through the puddle of hot water. 

Then came the second bucket.

Salt water. 

Room temperature salt water that burned his cuts even more than hot water had.

“You ever talk back to me again, this is what’s going to happen. Do I make myself clear?”

Gerard had nodded. Or maybe he’d said yes. Maybe “yes, sir.” He couldn’t remember. All he knew was the next moment he had his wrists zip-tied to the center support beam of the basement and he was stuck laying in the puddle of warm, salty water until—little by little, day by day—it all evaporated leaving only a white shadow on the cement floor. 

Gerard had gotten that treatment four times before he learned to quit talking. It was always the same. Severe beatings—sometimes the belt, sometimes a whip—then the buckets of water. Hot water to sterilize, salt to sting and cure the wounds. He would be left without food or water or attention until all the water on the floor dried up. Sometimes gerard was so desperate for a drink he lapped what could of the salty water off the floor. Deep down he knew it would dehydrate him worse, but he was desperate. 

For a few years he’d almost forgotten about his Trainer. He thought only of Master… Even when Master was very angry, he never caused injuries like Trainer. Master was smarter than Trainer, that was what gerard had come to realize. Trainer was wicked and cruel for the sake of being wicked and cruel. He didn’t want love from his victims—gerard doubted he even wanted respect. He wanted fear.

Master was different. Master wanted feared, but he wanted love and obedience and above all, respect. Master’s punishments were never so severe as to be considered excessive. Gerard knew that he’d always gotten when he’d deserved—whether it was a whipping, isolation, or sterilized needles stuck through his most sensitive regions until he learned to behave himself and act properly. 

After all, gerard knew he and marcus weren’t allowed to touch each other… Six needles pressed through the head of his cock were a good enough reminder to never, _ever_ let the idea cross his mind again. He’d deserved it. Marcus deserved what he got, too. His punishment was more severe though…

He was older and he’d led gerard astray—according to Master, anyway. 

Gerard remembered so many horrible things now that he was out… Now that his brother was here begging for answers. 

“Where have you been?”

 _You don’t want to know that, Mike,_ Gerard thought.

The things he’d seen, the things he’d been through—hell, even the things Frank had seen—were too much for a person to bear. Gerard didn’t wish them on anyone and he didn’t want his little brother to even imagine the horrors he’d been through. It was better if he didn’t know. It was better for everyone.

That’s why he could never go home.

They’d never look at him the same. They’d think him damaged… Gross. It was better that they just thought him dead.

Mikey was trying so hard to talk to him, but gerard just couldn’t do it. Not tonight. His heart was heavy and his head was spinning. He didn’t know what to think or how to put his emotions into words. 

“Why won’t you say anything? Has _he_ hurt you? Can you tell me that, at least?” He looked so desperate. 

Marcus had that look in his eyes once…

For a moment, gerard couldn’t even remember where he was. Maybe this was all just a dream. Maybe Master had struck him too hard for attacking joshua and this was all just some hallucination. 

For a moment, gerard could even see the patterns of his Master’s comforter. He could see Marcus laying next to him. A sleepy smile and worried eye. He had such dark skin… Such smooth, soft skin with strong muscles that rippled underneath his tender flesh whenever he moved.

Master had been handsome, but he didn’t compare to marcus.

“Gerard… Please say something.”

“I miss you, marcus,” gerard said.

“What? Come on… Stop it. Would you please just talk to me? I want to know how to help—what do you need me to do? Do you need away from this guy? Has he hurt you?”

Gerard shifted his head against the pillow and all at once, marcus was gone. The rich pattern of Master’s blankets were gone. The bed was smaller, the walls were closer. 

His little brother was staring down at him. 

“Do you need me to call the cops on him, because I will.”

“Don’t hurt Frank,” gerard said, the present slowly coming back to him. “You can’t hurt him. I… I like Frank.”

“But what about what you said earlier?” Mikey whispered. “You said…you said he was a master. Those are the people that took you right? He’s one of them… Isn’t that what you said?”

“I… I was confused.” Gerard could feel it now; he understood why Frank hated it when he called him Master. People wouldn’t understand them. They wouldn’t see the difference between a cruel master and a good master—they were just hung up on the title itself. 

If it kept Frank safe, gerard would play along. He’d let Frank’s title drop when they were with others. He’d let their circumstances be a secret to the whole world if that was what it took to make Frank keep him.

“Confused how, gerard?” Mikey asked.

“It all…runs together sometimes. Frank isn’t like them… I’ll tell you about it. Someday. Not now… Not right now…”

“Do you promise?” Mikey asked, sounding a bit desperate—though gerard couldn’t blame him.

Gerard had been away from marcus for only a few weeks and yet he couldn’t stop wondering what had become of his friend. He couldn’t imagine how Mikey had to feel after missing gerard for most of nine years.

“One day, maybe… If it starts making sense to me,” gerard said, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. 

He found it difficult to look at Mikey, though he wasn’t sure why. It scared him to look… Maybe he was terrified to realize just how much of his life he had missed. Mikey looked nothing like he used to. 

There was no innocence in his eyes. No wonder…. No happiness at all. He was hardly the same boy gerard had left behind. It was painful to be faced with how much of his life he had lost. 

Mikey stayed a little while longer, but eventually accepted gerard’s words that he was safe and alright to be left alone with Frank. It wasn’t like they could run away and hide, after all. Frank had no money to relocate and gerard hadn’t the strength to run anymore.

Seeing Mikey, being confronted with all the emotions and memories he didn’t want to face, consumed all the energy he had. Gerard almost felt as if he were asleep, dreaming the whole thing up. Part of him wished that were true…

Then he could wake up next to marcus who would shush him and tell him it was all just a dream…

Marcus…

Gerard missed him so much…

He missed so much of him. 

His heart started to break when he realized he’d probably never get to kiss marcus’s soft, warm lips again. He’d never wake up with the other man’s strong arms around his shoulders or his buried in gerard’s hair… He’d never get to run his fingertips through the thick, wiry curls of marcus’s hair or help him moisten it with the oils Master brought home from the salon. 

He’d never get to run his hands over marcus’s smooth skin…or work his mouth against it when adam was preoccupied with something else. 

He was never going to hear marcus say “I love you” again. 

The thought made him start to cry.

“Hey—Hey, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” And then there was Frank, rubbing gerard’s shoulder and wiping his bangs out of his eyes for him. “What’s the matter?”

Gerard closed his eyes and tried to hold on to his memories, the old sensations of marcus’s skin on his own. Marcus had shaken him awake from bad dreams before…and did a lot of what Frank was doing now—cooing over him, stroking his hair, shushing him…

Frank was a lot like marcus.

The thought never should’ve entered his head, but once it was there, gerard couldn’t let it go.

He missed marcus more than he missed his Master. He missed the feelings marcus gave him, the subtle feelings he never even realized were a result of his companion. Master didn’t make him feel comforted—marcus did. Master would beat him, marcus would kiss him better. 

After the Bad Man hurt him, it was marcus who had insisted that gerard be brought a blanket to cover himself and get warm after being brought upstairs. Marcus put him in the tub. Marcus bathed him and spoke to him… 

Gerard laid in the small bed, staring up at the ceiling, and then turned his eyes toward Marcus. 

Not Marcus… Frank.

But Frank was as close to being Marcus as gerard would ever get. 

“Are you okay?” Frank asked. There was worry in his eyes. First they were green—then brown.

A gentle hand felt his forehead and a soft voice hummed that it felt as if he had a fever.

First it was a mellow voice, then it grew deeper and smoother… Marcus’s voice had always been so rich, especially when he sang. No one had a voice like Marcus.

Marcus only sang when they were alone together… If adam was somewhere else like getting fucked or getting punished in the basement. 

They were alone now.

Gerard slowly sat up, his eyes fixed on Frank’s. 

Mikey was gone and they were alone now.

“You… You feeling okay, Sweetheart?” Frank asked, scooting forward a little more and feeling gerard’s forehead yet again.

Gerard sighed softly and let his eyes slip closed, imagining again that it was Marcus’s soft palm against his flesh. He sighed softly and moved closer, nestling his face down in Frank’s neck. He took a deep breath, taking in the scent of food and sweat and dog…a little hint of cologne. 

Marcus always smelled like the oil he used in his hair and coconut. Sometimes like sweat, sometimes like blood… But mostly coconut and oil. 

Gerard imagined those scents now as he pressed little kisses into Frank’s tan neck.

Tan… Black… What was the difference really, in the color of their skin? They both felt exactly the same between his lips. 

“Gerard?—Gerard, no! No, no. Don’t do that.”

Marcus had something like that the first time too, and all Gerard had to do to change his mind was…

He slid closer on the bed, his knees moving until they were on either side of Frank’s. He stopped kissing his neck and let his head hang low a moment, thinking, then leaned forward until his forehead bumped into Frank’s chest. 

Yes, just like Marcus, Frank put his hands on his shoulders. Gerard moved closer, putting himself in Frank’s lap until there were just a few sparse inches between them—their chests already touching. He took a deep breath and pressed his face into Frank’s neck again—sighing instead of kissing.

Frank wasn’t Marcus…. But Frank was close enough. He was a Master… It was alright to do this. He knew how to do this…

“Frank,” he whispered, letting his lips move just slightly against his Master’s neck. 

“What are you doing?” 

Marcus had asked that same thing. 

Gerard had been nineteen. 

It was first time he consented. 

It took four years for him to trust and love Marcus the way he did. Frank should consider himself lucky. 

“Gerard, what are you—oh! Oh, don’t! Don’t!” But Frank’s hands, just like Marcus’s, grew tighter on his shoulders, pulling him in. 

Gerard sucked his neck, little by little, working his way up until the tip of his tongue caressed the shell of Frank’s ear. 

He let out a moan then and let his head tip back in offering, exposing his throat and waiting.

Marcus had made him wait a long time.

Frank did the same, not making any movements at all until gerard fell entirely back against the pillows, pulling Frank down with him.

“Gerard! What’s gotten into you? What… What are you trying to do?”

Patience, gerard reminded himself. He squirmed a little, raising his hips and pressing them with determination against Frank’s. 

“Oh! G-God! Don’t do that,” Frank panted. 

Gerard immediately rolled his hips a second time. Earning a shudder of pleasure as Frank tried to pull away from him. He wouldn’t let go. Marcus fought at first. He kept coming in and out of his decision to move things forward, but even he—as well trained and dedicated to their Master as he was—caved to gerard’s will. 

And so did Frank.

Gerard used all of his best moves. He moaned softly here and there, he’d let his gestures stutter as he lowered Frank’s jeans until the man took them off himself and started kissing gerard’s neck. He didn’t know what this stranger felt for him. He didn’t know what his new Master had going through his head as he kissed him on the mouth, deeply. 

Gerard kissed back with just as much vigor, his tongue tracing Frank’s and sucking it gently. He spread his legs more, unclothed now except the sweater he had no intention of removing. Frank grunted and pressed down against him, leaving a wet, slimy trail across the inside of gerard’s hip. 

“Frank,” gerard whispered, his mind and heart miles and miles away with someone else. Someone he was sure he’d never meet again. 

“What? What, Baby? What do you need?”

He had him. Gerard had him. 

“Need you,” gerard whispered. So easily.

He was thicker than Master and it hurt when it slipped inside, even with the condom and gentle coaxing. Marcus was bigger, but gerard had never gotten this far with him. 

Gerard did his best, using every trick his Trainer and Master ever instilled in his mind. He rolled his hips, let his head fall back, and let his mind slip away.

Those tan hands…they were Black in his heart. Those sharp moans were deeper. The green eyes that stared down at him were brown. 

Marcus…

_Marcus._

Gerard rocked his hips back at bit, taking the man in a little deeper, moaning deeper as soft lips worked his throat and the curve of his jaw. There was a warm hand wrapped around his length, stroking him and squeezing him until he was a gasping, panting mess.

Master never fucked like this, gerard thought. Master never touched him quite like this. Gerard bet marcus would have, though. Marcus loved him…

Master never loved him, did he? Not like this…

All the thoughts started whirling together, white dots of pleasure blotting out his vision until he was reeling with need—groaning almost in pain as he held off as best he could. His hips were shaking and it was getting harder to breathe every second, especially with the gentle kisses and nips assaulting his throat.

He let out a desperate white, spreading his legs a little further apart and pushing up into Frank’s warm hand.

Frank, he remembered. Marcus, he thought.

They were one in the same at that moment.

“Come on, Sweetheart. Come for me.” The words sounded like a soft purr in his ear—coming from miles away—and gerard had to strain to make sense of them. 

Permission. He’d finally gotten permission. 

He let out a shuddery breath and tipped his head back farther, letting go. He felt everything, and the same moment felt nothing. He felt neither here with Frank or there with Marcus. 

He saw white, felt the white nothingness overcome all of his senses—blinding him, deafening him, pushing the last of the air out of his lungs. 

It felt like he was dying. It was the best feeling in the entire world, better than any high he’d ever had. 

One moment, he couldn’t feel his body at all, then the next he was crashing back into it—every nerve ending tingling, his pulse in his veins thrumming so hard he couldn’t make out the words being said to him.

A soft voice. Cold breath against his neck.

Gerard stared up at the ceiling, trying to breathe—trying not to think. 

He wanted to keep this feeling forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t think this scene would happen so soon in the story, but the time felt right—especially with how distressed Gerard is at the moment. He feels so insecure about everything and longs for that perfect fantasy he has always had about himself and Marcus. I feel kinda bad for Frank though. He has no idea he’s practically the last person on Gerard’s mind at the moment.


	20. When Nothing Goes as Planned

Frank woke up naked, Gerard in bed beside him—also naked—with Sweet Pea at the foot of the bed snoring. Suddenly, his bad choices came rushing back to him with all the regret and guilt he’d put off last night.

What was he thinking letting Gerard seduce him like that? What was he thinking going along with it? The blow job was one thing but last night… Last night was an entirely different beast all together.

Slowly, Frank slipped out of the bed and hurried into the bathroom to take a shower. He relished his moment of peace while it lasted, taking the time to really think about what he’d done and _why,_ but it didn’t surprise him when he saw, through the shower curtain, a shadowy figure enter the room silently. 

Gerard…

“Frankie?” 

“Yeah, Gerard?” Frank waited for the other man to say more, but he didn’t even ask permission before slipping into the shower himself.

It made him uncomfortable, but Frank didn’t feel like he had a right to complain after what they’d done. Gerard had slept with him…

So then why was he looking Frank up and down like he’d never seen him before? Why was he looking—really looking—at him like that? Like he was disappointed…

His eyes seemed tired and unfocused, his head tilted inquisitively like he was thinking about something. Even when he finally looked up and met Frank’s gaze, his eyes didn’t change in the slightest.

Is that what that look was? Disappointment?

“Master?”

“Frank…”

“Master, I’m tired.”

“Go back to sleep, Gerard. You can take a shower after I’m done,” Frank said, not willing to waste any more effort telling Gerard to stop calling him Master. The other man wasn’t going to listen. He was damaged… Frank had made a mistake in letting him close, thinking the spirited man had consciously made the choice.

Gerard couldn’t choose his sexual partners—he didn’t know how, he didn’t have the capacity or logic to make those kinds of decisions. For all he knew, sex was to be had with Masters. Frank was a stand in for that wicked man to take care of Gerard’s physical needs because he didn’t know or didn’t realize he should take care of them on his own…

“Do I have to?” Gerard asked, looking sad now. 

Frank couldn’t understand him. He had no idea what was going on inside his mind or his heart. One minute Gerard could be fierce and aggressive, boasting what he wanted and lashing out until he got it—then the next minute he was like this; sad, distant…quiet. 

“You should,” Frank said, grabbing the bottle of shampoo and beginning to wash his hair as Gerard stared at him. It was so uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to do anything to set Gerard off or make the other man anxious. Sleeping with him and then ordering him away in the name of modesty was just going to send mixed signals—and that was the very last thing Gerard needed.

He needed at least some consistency in his life.

“Frank?” Light came to Gerard’s eyes, but not the kind Frank wanted to see. His eyes were getting shiny, wet, because he was about to start crying.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You don’t have to go. You can stay. It’s okay.”

“Frank…”

“What?” Frank asked, doing all he could to keep his voice gentle. He was at such a loss with Gerard… How could he help him? How could he _fix_ him? He knew it would take time, but it felt that the more time which passed, the more his impulses got the best of him. 

Gerard was attractive; Gerard was _hot._ Frank could barely get the other man out of his head sometimes. But he was _crazy._ He couldn’t control himself or manage his emotions… 

“I miss Marcus… I don’t want Master to kill him.” With that, Gerard broke down sobbing and Frank was left staring at him—no idea how to help.

Marcus… That was the man Gerard had drawings of in his sketchbook, a little heart drawn next to his name. His friend. His…lover, perhaps? 

Had Gerard been thinking of him last night instead?

Quickly, Frank shook the thought away.

“If… If we go to the police, they could find him. We could save him,” Frank offered.

“Master has friends everywhere. If he heard someone was looking…” He must’ve remembered something, because he squeezed his eyes shut and began sobbing harder. 

“I-I’m sure Marcus is fine. Don’t cry…” 

Frank quickly rinsed his hair and then moved them so Gerard stood under the stream of warm water—doing the only thing he could think of to comfort the other man. He began washing his back and shoulders, gently rubbing them with the wash cloth—massaging his skin. It took a moment, but Gerard slowly relaxed into the touches, all the tension leaving his shoulders as Frank slowly worked out the knots. It took a while, but when Gerard was finally showered, Frank wrapped him in the bath towel and led him back to the bedroom to dress and lay down.

“I work later… Are you going to be okay here? I could invite your brother—”

“No. I don’t want him here.”

“Gerard, I know you don’t want to think about it, but you have to go home sooner or later. I can’t keep you here.”

“You keep saying that, but why? I-I want to be with you. I want to stay with Frank…and the rat.” He looked close to tears again, but managed to hold them back.

“I know you have feelings for me and…and I have feelings for you, too, but this isn’t where you belong. It’s not fair to your family. They’ve been missing you.”

“No one missed me.”

“Mikey clearly did!” Frank called.

“You don’t understand!” Gerard sobbed. “Why won’t you listen to me?”

“I am listening to you, but it’s better for you to be with your family.”

“I don’t want to go back! I don’t want to answer all their questions—I don’t want them to know what happened! Why don’t you understand? Master, why are you doing this?” Gerard dropped his head onto Frank’s shoulder, completely giving in to his tears. “Why? Don’t you understand? I...I don’t want to think. I don’t want to talk about it.”

All Frank could do was hold him, not sure what to say—or if words would even be enough. He wanted to understand, but he couldn’t. He would never be able to understand what Gerard felt. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling even though he was sure there were more productive things to be done. It felt strange doing nothing, but also oddly satisfying. He didn’t wash any dishes left over from breakfast. He didn’t sweep or clean the bathroom or even make the bed. Today, he didn’t want to… So he didn’t. 

He didn’t want to...so he _didn’t._

That was such an odd, strange feeling. 

He rolled over with his back to the room and the noisy rat that was snorting in its sleep, and made to take a nap himself. He felt so at peace here—even though the back of his mind reeled in fear of what was to come in the future when Frank finally turned him out. 

Just as he was on the cusp of sleep, there came a heavy knock on the door which startled him so badly he nearly fell of the couch. His heart immediately began to race and though he wanted to run, he was frozen in place.

“Gerard?” It was Mikey’s voice, calling from the other side of the door.

“No,” gerard whispered, looking back and forth as though he needed a place to escape. The door was closed—locked—Mikey couldn’t get to him. He was safe. 

“Gerard, it’s...me. It’s Mikey. Open up.”

Gerard sank down onto the couch again as if the arm were a shield.

“Gerard… Please? I know you’re there.”

The desperation in his voice felt like a knife in gerard’s throat and though he hated every step he took, he found himself walking toward the door and slowly unlocking it. It gave him some relief when Mikey merely looked at him from the hallway and didn’t attempt to force his way inside. 

“What do you want?” Gerard asked. 

“I wanted to ask you something...a favor.”

“What?” Gerard asked, shaking. He didn’t want to go home. He wasn’t ready. He wanted more time here, with Frank and the protection from the real world that Frank offered him. Gerard wasn’t ready to face reality. 

“I...I want you to come see Grandma.”

“I can’t,” gerard said, moving to close the door. Then Mikey forced his way in and shut the door behind him. 

Alone with him, gerard felt his heart begin pounding, his ears starting to ring from it. He started backing toward the bedroom, but instinct made him freeze. This was his brother—but he was afraid to be alone with him, afraid to be alone in a bedroom with him.

He was ruined.

Gerard’s eyes started to sting with tears.

They’d ruined him…

“Hey—I’m sorry. It’s not what you think. She’s...she’s dying, Gee. She just wants to see you before...she goes.”

“Grandma?” Gerard said, remembering her through a thick cloud in his memory. He remembered her kindness, her comforting him after one of his parents would speak harshly to him...consoling him after the bullies would beat him.

“I’ll drive you to the hospital. Mom and Dad won’t be there and...Grandma’s not really...coherent most days. If she told anyone she saw you, they wouldn’t believe her. But she’s really sick, Gee. If you could go...it’d mean so much to her.”

His grandmother was dying? The person he loved more than anyone really. She was dying? He came back home for this?

“I’ll go,” gerard murmured. “But I want to be home before Frank gets back. He’ll worry if I’m gone.”

“I can text him, Gerard. It’ll be fine if we’re back late. You don’t have to revolve your life around him. I… I know that’s weird for you, but you’re a grown man. You can do whatever you want. You don’t have to answer to anyone.”

He said that, but at the same time they all expected him to do as they asked when they told him to return home despite his desire to stay with Frank. 

“I want to be home before Frank gets back. Let me...change clothes first.”

Gerard made sure to lock the bedroom door behind him, ignoring it when the rat followed after him and began yapping the door. It took him over ten minutes to calm himself down enough to dress and then exit the room, and even then he was still shaking as he placed Sweet Pea into her crate.

“I promise this isn’t some trick to get you home. She’s just really… Grandma’s sick. You’re all she talks about anymore.”

“Okay,” Gerard mumbled, putting on one of Frank’s jackets before following Mikey into the hall. He locked the door with the spare key Frank had given him. 

He kept his silence as Mikey led him down the stairs and out to his car. Once there, he hesitated. He was afraid to get in. What if it was a trick? What if Mikey was lying?

Or what if someone recognized him and trapped him and forced him away from Frank?

What if Frank was in on this, too, and was waiting for gerard to leave so he could change the locks and kick him out forever…

“It’s okay. Come on.” Mikey was looking at him so expectantly. Didn’t he understand how hard this was?

Slowly, gerard folded himself into the passenger seat and kept his eyes fixed on the door handle—even after Mikey had gotten in and started the car. 

“Don’t have anything to say?” Mikey asked. “I mean… It’s been a long time. You must have something to talk about.”

Gerard kept his silence, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. Even when Master had guests in the house, gerard was never permitted to speak to them. And if they asked him questions, Master always answered on his behalf. 

“Guess I’ll do the talking then… Anything you want to know?”

Still, Gerard couldn’t muster the strength to speak.

“Well, Mom started working again after you...were gone. She does hairdressing. Dad’s still in the same place. Same house. Same car. Same everything. Got a new couch a few years ago though. That’s about it.”

Gerard nodded along with whatever Mikey said, offering no comment as his brother began describing his classes, his ex-girlfriend, his struggles with drugs and booze.

When he reached that part of his story, gerard couldn’t help but feel that it was his fault. Mikey started down the same path he had… Only Mikey hadn’t gotten taken. Gerard would do anything to take it all back—to try to be good and stay out of trouble so none of this would’ve happened to either of them.

It was his fault…

All of it. 

Everything.

He kept his eyes on the ground when they reached the hospital, feeling dizzy and sick as soon as he entered the crowded space. There were just too many people, too many noises. It reminded him of when Frank had tried taking him to the emergency room and that horrible ordeal. 

His heart was beating so hard as he followed Mikey into the cramped elevator with a nurse and two strangers. They went to the third floor, and gerard tried to keep himself calm by examining a chipped sticker some child had stuck on the wall near the floor. It looked like a dog, but it may have been a cat. The ears were picked off and all gerard had to go on was a cartoony smile on the light brown, furry face of the animal. 

“It’s here, Gerard,” Mikey said, tapping his shoulder and gesturing him to step out of the elevator. Gerard wanted to pull back, but the strangers were all looking at him and that made it so much worse.

Could the nurse tell there was something wrong with him? Could she tell just by looking at him that he was filthy and ruined?

He followed closer to Mikey as they stepped past a fully staffed nurses station and made their way down a narrow hall. TVs were playing, guests were talking, someone was yelling in the distance—fighting with their nurse.

Gerard didn’t want to be here. Why did he have to be here?

And then he was in the room.

And she was there.

She looked so much older. Her kind face more weathered than ever, her eyes half-open and staring at the wall beneath a dim television screen playing some black and white movie. She didn’t even notice them when they walked in. She didn’t seem to notice anything…

She sat in the bed covered in a hospital-standard blue blanket with a furry shawl wrapped around her shoulders. There was a tray of half eaten food in her lap with a little container of different colored pills she’d yet to take.

This wasn’t what he’d remembered. This wasn’t the loving, spirited grandmother who had been there for him every time his mother and father failed to be…

No… This was a trick—some impostor made to trick him into going home!

But as much as he wanted to believe it, gerard knew that wasn’t true. This was that woman… He’d just been gone _that_ long.

“Grandma?” Mikey said, gesturing for gerard to stay by the door while he approached the bed. He knelt beside her and took her hand, and only then did she come out of her daze.

“Oh! Mikey! There you are! I was just thinking about you. I was just wondering when you said you’d be back.” 

“I’m here, Grandma,” Mikey said, smiling at her while she beamed at him. 

It was the same smile, but instead of comforting him, this time the look of joy and admiration in his grandmother’s face just made gerard want to cry. 

“Grandma, I brought...someone to see you,” Mikey said, looking back over his shoulder at gerard who lowered his head. “It’s Gerard. He came to see you.”

“Gerard?” She sounded so shocked, but gerard couldn’t bring himself to look up and meet her gaze. He didn’t want to be seen. He was so, so sorry that she was sick—that she dying—and he’d give the world to trade places with her. But he couldn’t bare to let her see him. “Come closer. Come closer, won’t you? Come here.” She sounded so desperate and it caused gerard to start shaking. “Why are you afraid?”

“Gee, it’s okay.” And then Mikey was touching him and gerard couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to breathe. “Hey. It’s okay. It’s just Grandma. She’s missed you. Just come sit down for a minute.” Then he added in a much quieter voice, “You don’t have to tell her anything. I won’t.”

Gerard slowly nodded and let Mikey pull him over to the bed and guide him down into the stiff hospital chair. He still couldn’t look up at her, even this close, but he let Mikey take his hand and place it on top of their grandmother’s. 

Her skin was so cold. 

It was so unnatural for her to be this cold…

“I missed you so much! Where… Where have you been for so long?” She asked, squeezing his hand tightly. 

“Nowhere,” gerard whispered. “Nowhere important.”

“Did you run away to the city? I know you always said you wanted to go there for school. Did you go to New York?”

“Yeah,” gerard whispered, staring now at his hand and her hand. Her wrinkled skin… Was she really dying? He didn’t think he could cope with that right now… For so many years he’d pushed her away from his mind and his heart, but now it was all collapsing on him. He couldn’t run from the pain in his past anymore now.

“And you came back just to see me?”

“Of course, Gramma,” gerard choked, hating how his voice failed him. 

“You’re shaking… They keep these rooms so cold, don’t they? I keep telling your mother, I’d rather just be at home with my cat. But I guess it’s for the best, isn’t it?”

“Why are you here?” Gerard asked, cringing at the mention of his mother.

“I have caner. They wanted to try some other option, some...experimental treatment, but I think I’m past that point now. I don’t want them poking me any more than they have to… I’ve had my share of life anyway.”

“I don’t want you die,” gerard said, his voice barely more than a whimper. How cruel this was… To take him from his Master and throw him headlong into the tragedy that had been playing out at home. 

“Oh, don’t worry about me. Let’s talk about something else. Where have you been? Are you in school?”

“Art school...” Gerard mumbled, trying to think up a lie—a grand life he’d been living instead of the reality that might cause her pain.

“I bet you’re very popular there. I bet all the boys love you.”

Gerard could help the way his head snapped up at her comment—his eyes finally meeting with hers. 

“Don’t look so surprised,” she said with that familiar chuckle. He’d almost forgotten what her laugh sounded like. “You think I don’t know these things about my own grandson? I think…I might’ve known before you did. But that’s why you left, isn’t it? You knew how your dad is and how your mom is about that kind of thing. I wasn’t surprised… I felt bad a creative boy like you had to end up with them for parents. Couldn’t even listen to music in your house...”

Gerard didn’t know what to say to her. His throat was stuck, but whether it was truly from shock or not, he couldn’t tell. She offered him acceptance he didn’t deserve. She spoke not to him, but to the child he had been before he’d been taken off the street that awful night. She dug at a wound he’d almost forgotten about completely—an old wound covered up by so many other lash marks and scars—and spoke the words to heal it almost immediately.

“So what was his name?”

“His name?” Gerard asked, clawing his way back out of his thoughts before his emotions could overwhelm him.

“The man who took you to the city. The man you ran off with.” She had no idea how close she was to the truth, and yet how far. 

But he knew he could never, ever tell her what really happened. It was best he went with her version of the story… 

“His name is Frank… We live together in the city. Me and him and his dog.”

“Still together! It must’ve been true love.” She laughed so sweetly and squeezed his hand even tighter. “Do you have a picture of him?” She must’ve seen the way gerard’s face drop when she asked because she quickly added, “What? I thought all you kids had picture phones these days.”

“I… I don’t have any money. I can’t afford one.”

“A starving artist. Well! At least your boyfriend loves you for your mind and not your wallet. Maybe you’ll bring him to meet me next time.”

“Of course. He’d...he’d be happy to meet you. You’d love him, too. He’s good to me. He keeps me safe.” Gerard looked more at Mikey than his grandmother as he said it, hoping Mikey might understand that Frank was no threat—that Frank was everything to him. 

They talked for a long time, about everything. About what she had been doing before she got sick, and she told stories about Mikey and their parents while gerard kept as quiet as he could about his past. 

They talked for hours…

And then _they_ showed up.

When he heard his name come out of his father’s mouth, gerard froze—stopped speaking mid sentence—and felt his entire body told cold. 

No. No, no… Mikey promised this wouldn’t happen. He _promised._

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t handle _them._

_This._

“Gerard!? Oh my God! It’s you!” His mother stormed over to him, grabbed him up from the chair into a hug he didn’t want. There was something so violent in the action. Gerard didn’t know what to do, but he couldn’t hold her in return. 

His mind was on Frank now. These people, his family, they would take Frank away from him forever. Frank wouldn’t come save him, not even if he begged. 

“Where have you been?” His father asked, sounding more shocked than angry. But that anger would come.

God, gerard knew it would come. 

Mikey was staring at him, mouthing that he was sorry—like he really didn’t know they were about to show up.

“Answer him! Where have you been!” His mother cried. She had tears on her face and gerard couldn’t stand the sight of them. 

Gerard wanted to say “nowhere,” he wanted to say something to put them off—get them away—but his words wouldn’t come. There were too many people in this room and he felt sick to his stomach again. His grandmother was talking now, saying something—something he couldn’t hear.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t run…

Gerard squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, willing this nightmare to stop. There were too many hands on him, arms around him, voices screaming in his ears…

It was like the auction house. 

Oh, God! He was back there, wasn’t he?!

No! He couldn’t do this! There was just...too much.

Too much noise and too many people. 

He wanted to go home! He wanted to go home and hide under Master’s table, pretending the man would never find him. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank came home to an empty apartment…

Gerard was gone, his spare key gone… Sweet Pea was whimpering in her crate. Gerard’s sketchbook was laying discarded on the coffee table.

No note… No signs of any lunch being made or dinner prepared. 

Gerard was gone. Just...gone.

He looked everywhere—under the bed, in the closet, even in foolish places Gerard definitely couldn’t fit in to hide.

It didn’t seem like him to vanish. 

What if the men had come and taken him?

No… That was irrational. It was Mikey.

Mikey was behind this.

He had no right to do it—no right to be mad at the other man for taking his brother back—but enraged him that the man would do so without giving him any notice. 

Frank called him, and lost his temper as soon as the man picked up the phone.

“How dare you!? You can’t just come into my apartment and take him without saying anything! Fuck you!”

“Okay—I’m sorry! I am! I was going to bring him back, but something happened.”

“What do you mean something happened? What did you do to him!?”

“I didn’t do anything! You’re the one who doesn’t have a right to keep him! Don’t scream at me!”

“Where is he!?”

“I don’t know...”

“What do you mean you don’t know!? How do you not know!? You can’t _lose_ him! He can’t _function!_ He’s out of his fucking mind! How did you lose him?”

“Calm down, okay? I know it’s bad! We all know it’s bad… God is it fucking bad...”

“What happened?” Frank asked, growling as he paced back and forth in front of his couch. How could Mikey do this? How could he let Gerard go off on his own?

“I came and took him to see our grandmother. She’s sick, alright? All she talks about is Gerard. It was going fine. He was happy. I saw him smile for the first fucking time… Then our fucking parents showed up and everything fell apart.”

“What happened?” Frank repeated, his stomach tightening. They took him back… He thought he wanted Gerard to be reunited with his family, but the reality of it made him feel sick. He wanted Gerard here, where he was safe. Where he _wanted_ to be. 

He wanted to hear Gerard argue with him and tell him he didn’t want to go home… He didn’t really want him to leave.

“He had a fit or a panic attack or something. Scared our grandmother… Somehow they got him home and...he bolted.” Mikey’s voice was shaking and strained, and Frank didn’t know if it was from stress or drugs or both.

“Did they hurt him?”

“Dad scared him… He didn’t say anything mean, but Gerard… I’ve never seen anything like this. I don’t… I didn’t recognize him. It’s like he’s a different person.”

“Well he’s not going to be the same as when he left!”

“No… I mean when he panicked. It’s not like when he’s with you or like he was at the coffee shop. He went from being scared to being... _dead,_ to just being fucking crazy. You know, I’ve seen people tripping ass on every drug in the book, but I’ve never seen anyone act like him.”

“I told you he wasn’t in his right mind. He can’t handle stress.”

“I kept telling Dad that. I told him just give him room, let him breathe, let him calm down… Mom said he should go lay down in his room. She meant well! She really did… But it triggered something. He would _not_ go downstairs. They kept pushing it and he...”

“He snapped?” Frank asked, thinking about the times Gerard would turn on him. Gerard was complacent and submissive so long as things were going along with what he found comfortable. And when he was tested, he lashed out. Violently.

“Dad tried, you know, coaxing him downstairs… His room’s down there. It’s not bad. It sounds bad...a basement bedroom sounds bad, but it’s warm… It’s got everything. He always liked it.”

“What did your dad do to him?” That was the wrong question. What did Gerard do to his father was more like it.

“Dad tried making him go down there… Must’ve pulled on his wrist wrong or something. He got this look… I won’t ever forget it.”

Frank knew that look. The wicked, _evil_ rage Gerard had burning in his eyes. God, Frank hoped he didn’t push the man down the stairs and kill him, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“Dad stopped as soon as Gerard looked at him like that. Like he wanted to _kill_ him. Gerard hit him and...Dad kinda hit him back just to...just out of shock or something. It wasn’t hard! He didn’t want to hit him! But Gerard fell… He fell pretty hard. I think he was startled or something. It wasn’t like Dad pushed him.”

“He fell down the stairs?” Frank asked. He had to sit down after hearing that. Gerard was out of his protection for less than ten hours and he was terrorized, taken, struck, and knocked down a flight of stairs.

“Yeah. I think he messed up his arm. I don’t know… Mom and I went to help him get up and he shoved both of us and got upstairs, screamed at Dad—I don’t even know what he said, his voice was so fucked… Then he went out the front door and we can’t find him.”

“I’ll find him,” Frank said, determination winning out against his logic. How would he find someone lost? He didn’t know every corner of Belleville. 

“We’ve looked everywhere.”

“I’ll find him. What’s your address?”

“I’ll text it… Just promise if you find him, you’ll tell me. I won’t come see him, but I want to know he’s okay.”

“I will. Just promise me if I get him you won’t sick your parents on him again.”

“I never wanted them to see him in the first place! I knew couldn’t handle them… Couldn’t handle them when he was sane.”

Frank got Mikey off the phone and then taking Sweet Pea outside to do her business, got in his car and started driving. Where would Gerard go?

To his apartment was his first thought. But did Gerard know the way? Probably not from Belleville, and it would take hours to walk—assuming he didn’t get beaten to death in the ghettos along the way.

He drove around all the different routes he could think that would take him from his apartment to Gerard’s old home. It was a nice house, in a not-so-terrible neighborhood. There were parks nearby but no signs of Gerard or anyone not in the middle of a drug deal. 

He drove for hours…

He looked down side streets and parked to look down narrow alley ways. He found more homeless people than he could count trying to keep warm wherever they could—in stairwells, in children’s playgrounds, in between dumpsters. He looked everywhere…

He had to be at work at seven, and it was going on four now… But he couldn’t give up. What if someone bad found him? What if he’d hurt more than just his arm in the fall and was lying somewhere injured? 

What if, what if, _what if?_

Frank would never be able to sleep if he didn’t know what happened…

How was he supposed to go to work with Gerard still out there freezing on the streets, lost?

He was never going to find him…

Mikey was still looking and their father was still looking…

They’d searched all of Belleville. He had to have found somewhere good to hide. Somewhere he knew they wouldn’t catch him. 

Frank sat in his car in the parking lot of a shut down dollar store and stared at his phone, looking at a picture he’d taken of Gerard where the other man was sketching away in his black book, unaware of Frank watching him. 

He kept telling Gerard he needed to go home, but he never really meant it. He hadn’t want to admit to himself how lonely he’d gotten now that his work had claimed nearly his entire life. He had one friend—Ray—and no time for his hobbies or music. And no reason, really, besides Sweet Pea to get out of the house. With Gerard… He wasn’t ever lonely. Gerard would listen to him talk about _anything_ for hours on end. 

It was cruel of him, wasn’t it? He was using Gerard just as much as the other man was using him—only Gerard didn’t know any better. Gerard couldn’t care for himself or live on his own.

He was like Sweet Pea. He was just like another pet…

Frank shuddered at the thought and closed his eyes.

He was no better than Gerard’s “masters.” 

His phone vibrated in his hand and Frank was quick to turn his focus back to it. He expected a text from Mikey—hoped it was the other man bringing good news—but it was the owner of the diner.

Was he late?

Frank checked the time quickly and reminded himself that, no, he was due in at seven. 

So what did he want?

“Ur friend is looking 4u. He has no $$.”

Frank wasted no time pressing Call—and then calling a second time when the man didn’t answer right away.

“I figured you’re in at seven-thirty. You can cover his coffee?”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Frank said. “Don’t let him leave.”

“Is he in some kind of trouble? I only texted you because he keeps lookin’ out the windows like he expects you to show up. He was frozen solid when he got here. Still shaking.”

How? How did Gerard get all the way out to the diner from Belleville? He had to have walked on the interstate… Did he pay that much attention when Mikey drove him to the hospital to see their grandmother? 

He’d come to Frank’s apartment while he was out searching for him, Frank bet. He went there and when Frank wasn’t home, he went to the diner hoping to find him—and keep warm.

“He had some...family things happen yesterday. I’ll pay for anything he wants. Thank you. I’ve been looking for him all night. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay, Frankie. I’ll tell him you’re coming.”

Frank thanked him again, then hung up and started driving. He was shaking, too, when he got the diner and saw the unmistakable silhouette of his companion in the window. Gerard always sat at the bar or a table in the back corner… It was so unlike him to want to be seen.

As soon as he stepped out of his car, Gerard stood up from the table and Frank just barely beat him to the diner’s front door. There were other customers, but Frank didn’t care. As soon as he stepped inside, Gerard hugged him—but with only one arm. His left arm stayed low, either dislocated or broken.

“Go wait in the car, okay? I’m going to talk to my boss, and then we can go home. Back to my apartment, okay?”

“Okay,” Gerard whispered, seeming to understand as he let go of Frank without a fight or a scene. He led himself out to the car, and once he was inside, Frank made his way into the kitchen to meet with his boss.

“I’m sorry about him. He—”

“You don’t have to explain, Frankie. He didn’t cause anyone trouble. He just made it clear he was looking for you.”

“Right… I am sorry, though. I was out looking for him all night. He must’ve gone to my apartment and when I wasn’t home—”

“You don’t have to explain. I told you. He didn’t cause trouble. But, Frankie...if you’ve been driving around all night, I can’t have you working today.”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t give away my shift. I’ll be here at seven—like I’m scheduled.”

“You’re not going to be any good if you’re falling asleep at the counter. It’ll be slow today. Take the morning off.”

“I can’t afford to,” Frank whispered. “I’m… I’m supporting him, too. I don’t have any money. I know you’re trying to help, and I appreciate that, but I need the money for than sleep.”

His boss was quiet a moment, then nodded his head. “Just come in at nine. You can make up the hours and stay later. You’re not working at the other store tonight, right?”

“No. Thank you. I… I really appreciate it. It’s kinda hard keeping up with him sometimes.”

“Didn’t take you as the type to take in a freeloader. I know you care about that guy, but don’t let him get the best of you. You’re a good kid. I don’t want to see you get taken advantage of.”

“Thanks,” Frank said, unable to offer any more. He couldn’t explain why he took in Gerard, or why it was so wrong to call him a free loader. He couldn’t say anything, so he politely nodded his head, paid for Gerard’s coffee and a bowl of soup, and left. 

When he got in the car, Gerard was staring at him, holding his injured arm.

“Does it hurt?” It wasn’t at all what Frank wanted to ask, but it seemed like the easiest place to start.

“Not really… I’m sorry you had come find me.” Gerard’s voice sounded rough, though whether it was from the cold or from fighting with his father, Frank couldn’t guess.

“How did you get here?”

“I walked...”

“From Belleville?”

“I walked,” Gerard repeated, settling back in his seat as Frank started to drive.

“I heard you fell down the stairs.”

“He hit me.”

“I heard that, too.”

“I’ve done horrible things and you never hit me...”

“You never did anything horrible. And no one should be hitting you. But I guess it makes sense now why you didn’t want to go home.”

“You won’t take me back, right? Please!?” Gerard leaned forward in his seat urgently, his voice cracking just like it used to when Frank first brought him home.

“No. I won’t make you go back there. I can’t believe he fucking hit you...”

“I don’t remember much of it… I-I remember seeing Grandma. Then they were all around me. There were so many people in the room and Mikey kept asking me to go to the car with them. I went… Then they tried to put me down in the basement. I don’t want to go down there.”

“Mikey said you used to like your room.”

“I don’t want to go in the basement again. I don’t want to—it’s cold.”

His voice had taken a strange tone, so Frank let it be. He didn’t mean his bedroom in the basement—that wasn’t what he was talking about. He meant the basement at his Master’s, and even though he knew that all that waited for him at his parent’s house was an old bed and unwelcome memories, he feared he’d go down the stairs and end up back in his Master’s hell. 

“You don’t have to. You’ll stay with me, okay? No one’s going to hit your or put you down in a basement. Alright?”

“Yeah.”

Gerard stayed quiet, even after they arrived at the apartment and Frank him took him upstairs. He slowly helped the other man take off his shirt so he could examine his arm. It didn’t look broken, but his shoulder hung low—dislocated for sure from how he’d landed when he fell. 

“You’ll have to see a doctor.”

“No… I can fix it.”

“No, you can’t. You’ll just make it worse.”

“Frankie… Just trust me. I can fix it.” He looked so tired and drained—much like Frank felt—but his eyes had no fire or fight left in them at all. He hardly looked like someone who would turn hostile at the drop of a hat…

“Mikey said you hit your dad first. Is that true?”

“Yeah… I think so. I don’t… I can’t remember what happened. He was pulling on me and I didn’t want to go. He said something, I said something… I got mad again. I didn’t want to go down there. I don’t want to do things I don’t want to… Is this really happening to me?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. You can sleep here as long as you need. I can’t promise your family won’t come back for you, but you have to understand where they’re coming from. They missed you. They’ve been worrying about you. I know what happened isn’t anything you want to tell them about or have to relive, but...they need to know why you act like this. They don’t know you anymore. They have no idea why you panic like that.”

Gerard wouldn’t answer after that, so Frank suggested he take a shower and get ready for bed. It had been too long of a day and they both needed rest. Gerard agreed without a fight, but a few moments after Frank left him alone in the bathroom, there came two loud—impossibly loud—thuds, followed by a grunt of pain from Gerard.

Fearing he may have fallen getting into the tub, Frank hurried back to the bathroom only to find Gerard hunched over, clutching at his shoulder.

“What did you do!?” He asked.

“Fixed it...” Gerard groaned, straightening up and rolling his shoulder—now back in place. “Sorry. I told you I could fix it. Happens all the time with this arm.”

Frank checked his walls for signs of damage, and upon seeing none excused himself from the bathroom and got himself ready for bed. He kept Sweet Pea close on the bed while he waited for Gerard to finish showering, then made room for the other man when he came in the room.

It would’ve felt so wrong to try sleeping without him… He thought he should text Mikey before going to sleep, but decided against it. What if he showed up? What if he and his parents showed up? Now just wasn’t the time… He was so tired—so drained—as was Gerard who didn’t even try to get more than a simple peck on the lips before collapsing at Frank’s side in the bed.

“Master?”

“My name is Frank,” Frank grumbled, securing one arm around Gerard’s waist. He guessed it was okay to hold him now, after what they had done the night before…

“Master… I’m scared.”

“You don’t have anything to be afraid of,” Frank murmured. Frank had more to be afraid of than Gerard, it felt. What if his parents got the police involved? What if they tried to get him arrested for harboring a missing person or some other trumped up charge? 

“I don’t feel like myself.”

“You’re tired.”

“I...I’m so lost,” he sounded like he was about to start crying and Frank was too exhausted to offer much more in terms of comfort. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“You’re staying with me. And I’ve got you… And you’re safe here.”

Gerard whimpered something else, but Frank just held him tighter and closed his eyes. They needed sleep… Maybe it would all make more sense in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've missed you all! Sorry for being gone so long!


	21. In Which Words are More than Spoken

Gerard only managed to sleep a few hours, and fitfully at that. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt like he was plummeting down onto the cement floor of a basement—his parents’, his Master’s… His _Trainer’s._

He knew he woke Frank every time he tossed or turned, but he couldn’t help it. Laying still was impossible no matter how hard he tried. It pained him to know Frank would have to be up in a few hours and that the man had gotten no rest at all because of him… Because gerard couldn’t keep out of trouble long enough for his new Master to find peace of mind and rest. 

Gerard got out of bed around six-thirty in the morning and went to sit on the couch, staring at the black TV screen and covered window. He felt guilty… He felt sick to his stomach, cold, and afraid.

The world seemed to have changed so much and so fast, he couldn’t even begin to comprehend it all.

His shoulder ached, his legs felt heavy and his feet stung from all the walking he’d done to get back to Frank’s.

His heart was heavier than it had ever been in his whole life. 

He knew what he wanted, and fought against his training which taught him not to crave what he couldn’t have. He was a slave, a whore—a toy. It didn’t matter what he wanted…

But he wanted to stay here with his new Master, with Frank. But this new Master couldn’t keep him… That was becoming far too obvious. It was a situation he’d never been in before and wasn’t nearly equipped to bear. He had a Master he wanted to stay with, a Master who seemed to want him...but they _couldn’t_ be together? It was madness…

All because of money. All because Frank didn’t have enough money to feed them both…

Gerard guessed he could stop eating so much. He’d been starved before, so going back to scraps shouldn’t scar him at all. He’d tell Frank something—some lie about not feeling well or wanting to diet or something—and stop eating so much. He’d live on toast and butter and whatever Frank brought home from the diner. 

Maybe then Frank would keep him…

Gerard bowed his head as he felt his heart grow heavy. 

He wanted to stay with his Master and not as a useless freeloader. He didn’t want to be made to go back home to those people who gave him no semblance of love in his childhood. Yes, his parents sheltered him and clothed him and fed him, but they killed his soul—scorned his efforts in his art, scolded him for being too weak to stand up to bullies…

Gerard began sobbing and bowed his head. 

He never wanted to see them again… He hated them so much for what they let him become. It was their fault he’d fallen so far and so fast. If they’d just shown him love—if they’d just cared about how he felt instead of how he looked, he never would’ve had to go to the streets like he had. 

Gerard didn’t realize how hard he was sobbing until he felt warm arms wrap around his shoulders and a soft kiss being pressed to the top of his head. Frank was standing behind the couch, holding him and trying to offer comfort. 

He was the one who always said gerard needed to move home. He wanted gerard to go…

No one wanted him except the people who didn’t give a damn about him. Why did it always have to be like that?

“Why don’t you come back to bed?” Frank whispered. “You had a long day. You need sleep just as much as me.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up, Master,” gerard sobbed. He knew Frank hated it when he addressed him that way, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed something to be normal...he needed some semblance of the life he used to have—of something familiar. 

“The bed got cold. You didn’t wake me… Are you okay?”

“I’m...I don’t know,” gerard cried, turning around in his seat so he could wrap his arms around Frank as well. 

“It’s okay. Don’t cry… Come back to bed, Sweetheart. You gotta get sleep.”

“I can’t,” gerard cried. 

“Try… Don’t sit out here all alone.”

“Didn’t want to wake you up,” gerard sniffled. “I know you have to work. I know I’m distracting you...”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

Gerard held him tighter and dried his tears on the front of Frank’s shirt. 

“Come to bed,” Frank repeated, letting go of gerard so he could return to his bedroom. Gerard obeyed him, because he wanted to and because his Master asked it of him. 

When they laid down, gerard put his head on Frank’s chest and held the arm Frank wrapped around him, kissing Frank’s knuckles a few times as he sniffed back tears. 

“Gerard?”

“Master?”

“What did your family do to you that makes you hate them so much?” 

“No… I don’t hate them. I just...want Frank. I want to stay here. I’ll do anything to stay.”

“You don’t have to do anything to stay. I know I pushed you to go home but...I didn’t think it would go that badly when you finally did. I didn’t know they’d hurt you.”

“Sleep, Master,” gerard whispered, kissing Frank’s knuckles again. 

“I’m not a Master. You know that, right?”

Gerard thought a moment, and closed his eyes. “Yes… Master.” 

“Then you know not to call me that.”

“I want to,” gerard whispered, squeezing Frank’s hand tightly.

“Why? Why do you want me to be one of those people?”

“Because you protect me. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

“Doesn’t that just prove I’m not like them?”

“I don’t know,” gerard whimpered, thinking of his Trainer, his Master, and his brother… He thought of his father and how cold that man’s face had been in his childhood compared to how desperate it had looked as he tried to get gerard to go downstairs to bed. 

It had been such a strange, frightening moment. He just wanted to see his grandmother… He wasn’t ready to be taken back to his youth. 

Gerard remembered childhood in hazy flashes. He remembered the feeling of being constricted—being held so tightly he couldn’t breathe. He had to go to the streets in order to feel freedom, even if that freedom came with addictions he had to steal in order to afford.

It was strange that even chained in his Trainer’s basement, he didn’t feel as constricted as he had in his parents’ house. It was the same with Master. 

Maybe it was because he had no future to worry about and no expectations. As long as he moaned when he was fucked, he couldn’t be a disappointment. He never let his Master down… He was a useful toy to the rich and powerful… He wasn’t anyone, but he wasn’t nothing.

Master never made him feel like he was a waste of space the way his parents did. If he failed a test or got a less than satisfying mark on a project, then he wasn’t “thinking about his future.” There was no sympathy when he tried his best and failed. No “better luck next time” or “practice makes perfect,” just lectures and disappointment.

“Frank?”

“Hm?” Frank hummed sleepily. 

“Where is your family?”

“I moved out so I could keep Sweet Pea.”

 

“You don’t talk about them.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“I don’t talk about my family either,” gerard said, wondering if they were more alike that he’d thought. He kissed Frank’s knuckles again, then moved to lay beside him instead of against his chest.

“Yeah… I need sleep.”

Gerard didn’t respond. He sniffled quietly, struggling to breathe through his clogged nose in order to sleep. He didn’t think rest would ever come for him, but it seemed that when he opened his eyes after closing them for just a moment, the room was full of light and Frank was gone. Off to work… And gerard was alone.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank couldn’t think… He was too tired. He didn’t think he’d ever been so tired in his whole life. He couldn’t walk straight, couldn’t think straight, couldn’t remember a word his customers said to him no matter how hard he listened. He felt like his legs would drop out from under him any minute, and he could feel every heavy beat of his heart in his chest.

His vision would go blurry as he scratched down notes in his notepad. His head ached and his throat burned.

Sick and tired. He was literally sick and tired.

So when Mikey came through his doors, it was easy to lie. 

It was easy to say “I haven’t seen Gerard. I don’t know where he is. But you need to leave, because I can’t deal with you people anymore. This is your mess. Clean it up.”

Mikey looked devastated, for once he looked sober though. He bowed his head, exclaimed something out of agony, and left the diner.

Frank leaned on the counter after Mikey left, trying to keep his balance as he readied himself to pour another mug of coffee. 

But when his wrist was too weak to hold it when he grabbed the coffee pot. He heard it shatter on the floor, but as soon as the shock registered, Frank was on the floor with the broken glass and scalding coffee. He registered the pain, but that was it. 

Something hurt, off in the distance. 

Then it was just dark.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard had spent most of his morning cleaning, then laid down on the couch with the television playing softly as he dozed off. He was getting used to relaxing a bit more, and it was nice to be able to watch what he wanted on the TV instead of just legal dramas and the news like Master had watched. 

He was in and out of a peaceful nap when he heard a loud banging noise that startled him so severely that he fell off the couch and onto the floor. He tried to calm himself down, telling himself it was probably just someone moving into the apartment where the former tenants had been evicted, but then he heard keys rattle and another thud just outside the door.

He wanted to hide, but once the fear gripped him, he was frozen.

What if it was the landlord? What if he’d heard Frank had someone else living with him—someone not on his lease? Was this a surprise inspection?

But then he heard Frank’s voice and felt the weight lift off his chest. It was just Frank...but why was he home so early?

Gerard turned his head to look at the clock on the microwave, making sure he hadn’t dozed off for several hours instead of a few minutes.

No, Frank was definitely home early…

“Easy, just take it easy,” someone said as the door cracked open. That wasn’t Frank’s voice… Gerard struggled a moment to place it, then realized it was Ray—his new Master’s friend.

“I’m fine, Ray. I told you,” Frank said, coming through the apartment door. He sounded so exhausted and weak…

Gerard got to his feet and hurried over to the doorway, but froze when he saw his Master’s cheek was bandaged—and so was his left hand.

“Master?” He whimpered. A million thoughts ran through his head at once. His Keeper was injured and he was so afraid that someone had attacked him—someone from the auction or maybe even his True Master.

The little grey rat started yapping and ran toward them as well, but Frank shooed her away and Ray ended up pushing her aside with his foot so he could close the door.

“Frank? Wh-what happened?” Gerard asked, wanting to take his Master’s hand and guide him to the couch to sit but afraid to with Ray around. 

“Don’t worry, gerard. I’m fine,” Frank said, not looking at him as he made his way to the couch on his own with Ray close at his side. Gerard couldn’t help but trail after him and fall to the floor at his feet. There was blood on his Master’s white dress shirt, he noticed as Frank stripped off his winter coat.

“Master?” Gerard whimpered, reaching out and touching the stains, then grasping Frank’s bandaged hand gently. 

“Stop,” Frank said, pulling away.

When Frank wouldn’t explain what happened, gerard turned his eyes to Ray. It drove a spike of fear through his chest when that other man—usually so soft spoken and gentle—glared at him coldly. 

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Ray, leave it,” Frank said, grabbing the remote control and changing the channel on the TV.

“He needs to hear it! You got _hurt_ today! You could’ve crashed your car—you could’ve died! All because _he_ won’t let you sleep!”

Gerard’s heart dropped into his stomach and his head immediately lowered, his eyes closing as he shuddered—almost as if in anticipation of a blow.

“Ray… I can handle him.”

“You’re too nice to ‘handle’ him! He needs to let you sleep!”

“Last night wasn’t his fault,” Frank said. At least he was coming to gerard’s defense—that had to be a good sign, right? Gerard shivered, keeping his head ducked as Ray continued to scold him soundly.

Gerard couldn’t help the heaviness that grew more and more in his chest with each passing moment. He had tears rushing down his cheeks, but was too afraid he might sob out loud if he took more than the shallowest of breaths. He kept his head down as low as he could while Ray told him off—told him what happened to Frank who was so exhausted he’d collapsed at work and cut himself on broken glass.

“Ray, knock it off! Last night wasn’t even his fault!” Frank screamed after the stern lecture drew on too long. “I need sleep. Just go home. I’ll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can play Xbox or something.”

Frank had to dismiss him a few more times before Ray finally left, but even after he had gone, gerard couldn’t stop crying. Frank was injured...and there was no doubt that it was his fault. 

“Don’t listen to him, gerard,” Frank said, shifting around until he was sitting on the floor in front of gerard. “Last night wasn’t your fault. It was mine, okay? Don’t cry. It’s okay—don’t cry.”

All gerard could do was stammer out apologies, pulling away in shame every time his Master tried to touch him. The little rat came over and licked at Frank’s hands, yapping at him until he picked her up and held her in his lap.

As soon as Frank was distracted, gerard got to his feet and hid himself away in the bathroom—holding the door closed with all of his might when his Master tried to get in.

“Gerard, please open the door… I’m not upset at you. Please. What are you doing? Come out.” He kept begging and gerard sat with his back to the door crying. “Please don’t hurt yourself… Come out. Would you please, please come out?”

Gerard couldn’t obey. He kept seeing the blood on Frank’s shirt, kept imagining him so exhausted that he collapsed. Ray was right. He could’ve crashed his car and died—then gerard would be all alone. And it would be his fault… Frank didn’t deserve to suffer because of him.

“Sweetheart, please. I need sleep and I can’t if you’re in there. Please come out. I’m not mad.”

Gerard cried a few moments longer, then listened and opened the door. He didn’t know why, but as soon as Frank came into the room, gerard jerked backwards against the sink and hit his head. He cringed, cowering like a beaten dog as Frank came to him. 

“Stop that now… It’s just me. It’s me. Why are you crying?”

Frank knelt in front him with a hand on his shoulder, so much warmth and compassion in his eyes. Sentiments a used up whore didn’t deserve. 

Gerard let out another cry and fisted his hands in his hair, jerking away from Frank’s kind touch. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve it at all. 

“Stop that… Hey! Shh. It’s okay. Don’t do this. What’s wrong?” 

Frank grabbed his hands, trying to make him lower them, trying to make gerard stop tugging at his hair. Gerard wanted to obey him, but he couldn’t. Pain was the only thing keeping him grounded, and without the sting in his scalp where the strands of his hair were breaking loose, he was afraid he’d fade away into nothing. 

“Gerard, no… What are you doing? Calm down. Please calm down. I’m fine—you’re fine. You don’t need to be upset.

Frank started tugging on him, pulling him to his feet and then leading him into the bedroom where he was made to lay down across the blankets. His chest was tight, making it hard to breathe, even with Frank’s fingers running up and down his back. He tried to get on all fours, but Frank kept pushing him down by his shoulders, not letting him get into position for an offering.

He needed something—he needed to do something to show Master he was sorry, but all he could do was choke and cry. Everything felt so wrong… He was wrong to be here—wrong to have made Frank worry, to be causing him worry even now. 

“Hush now. You’re okay. No one’s mad. No one’s going to hurt you, alright? It was just an accident. My boss understands. Everything’s okay.”

“I-I’m s-so sorry, M-Master.” It was all gerard could say. 

“It’s okay. Can you calm down a little? I want to sleep and I want you here next to me, okay?”

“Yes, Master,” gerard cried, letting Frank lay down beside him, resting with his head in the crook of gerard’s neck. 

“You’re shaking so hard,” Frank whispered before pressing his lips to gerard’s neck. “Hush, Sweetheart.” Frank kissed him again and all gerard could do was whimper and press back against him. 

He moved his hips against Frank’s, hoping his Master might press against him too, but he didn’t. Just told him to hush and kept kissing his neck until gerard finally managed to stop shaking. The tears didn’t go away so easily, but he could tell Frank had fallen asleep so he managed not to sob. 

He couldn’t shake Ray’s words or his expression of rage. He was used to rage translating into pain—horrible pain—and his body was still in shock, frozen because nothing bad had come yet. Until someone struck him, he didn’t think the sick feeling would go away. 

But Frank was never going to hit him. So why didn’t that make him feel better? Why didn’t that soothe him?

Gerard laid still until long after nightfall and into early dawn. He was still sniffling, his tremors coming back as he felt Frank shifting against him. 

Instinct kicked in and he rolled his hips back against Frank’s again, closing his eyes as Frank finally reciprocated. Frank kissed his neck again and pressed up against him. 

“Did you get any sleep?” Frank asked.

Gerard didn’t answer, just rolled his hips again. Frank let out a soft moan and wrapped an arm around him, squeezing him tightly. 

“You trying to turn me on?” Frank asked.

The question just made gerard feel dirty...slimy. He felt sick and still so tense—like nothing in the world could make him better, not even a rough fuck to make him pay for what he’d done.

When he didn’t answer, Frank whined and slowly sat up. He kissed gerard’s cheek, then moved to start stroking his hair. 

“Why are you so upset, Baby? Was it Ray? I know he was mad, but it’s not your fault. You know that, right?”

“I don’t know anything,” gerard whimpered.

“Are still crying?” Frank asked, shifting around some more until he was laying on gerard’s other side, facing him on the narrow edge of the bed. “Why are you crying?”

Gerard couldn’t look him in the eye. He closed his eyes as Frank petted his hair some more, and leaned into it when Frank kissed him on the mouth. He opened his mouth when Frank sucked on his bottom lip, letting the tips of their tongues touch. 

It was just how Marcus used to kiss him.

Gerard moaned and leaned forward, grabbing the back of Frank’s neck and kissing him back desperately. When Frank finally climbed over top of him, gerard could hardly contain himself. His body was shaking, his heart beating with passion and fear. He would do anything to get rid of the weight in his chest—anything to distract him from his fear for just a minute. 

He slid his hand under Frank’s shirt, feeling his hips, then his back and shoulders. He whimpered into Frank’s mouth as the man did the same to him—feeling his chest and then running a hand between their bodies to grope him. Gerard bucked into his palm, whimpering with need as Frank touched him.

Frank kissed his jawline, then his neck—then sucked his pulse until gerard couldn’t help but thrust into Frank’s warm hand. 

“Can I do something for you, Sweetheart?” Frank asked, his lips tingling against Gerard’s neck.

“Anything,” gerard whispered, squirming under Frank’s touches.

“If you don’t like it, you tell me to stop, okay?”

Gerard’s only response was a choked moan, his mind too far gone to focus on words or forming sentences. 

Frank kissed him on the mouth again, then pulled back, his hand still tucked inside gerard’s pants—but only for a moment longer before he began pulling them open and out of his way. Gerard could only watch through lidded eyes as Frank kissed his chest, then down his stomach. 

Was this a dream, he thought, just before Frank’s lips closed around the head of his cock. Gerard let out a cry, like a scream, and felt his eyes roll back as Frank took more and more of him into his hot mouth. Gerard had never felt anything like it—not anything in the world. Marcus had given him sloppy handjobs and Frank had touched him, but not like this. 

Oh, God, it was no wonder his Masters always wanted him on his knees. 

It was hard to keep his hips still, even with one of Frank’s hands pinning him down to the bed. His eyes refused to stay open, and all he could do was whine and mewl whenever Frank would torture him by pausing and pulling away to ask if wanted to stop. Why would he ever want this to stop, he wondered. Why in the world would he ever, ever ask Frank to stop?

It didn’t take long for him to finish, and it was the strangest, most amazing feeling when Frank swallowed around him, the sudden tightness of his mouth making so many sparks fly behind gerard’s eyes. Gerard didn’t even get a chance to ask permission first—it all crashed down on him so suddenly, and when it was over he could only lay there and pant. 

“Well that calmed you down, didn’t it?” Frank asked, giggling at him before coming to lay at his side.

Gerard merely laid on his back and fought to regain control of his breathing. It didn’t help that Frank kept kissing his neck either. If he kept it up, gerard would need to go again—but maybe that was the plan. Frank had yet to be taken care of, and once that came to mind, gerard forced his eyes back open and tried to return the favor.

Only Frank turned him down.

“Nah, not right now. I just want to hold you a little bit longer, if that’s okay.” Frank laid his head on gerard’s chest, the way gerard always did with him, and then acted as if he were about to go to sleep. “Has anyone ever done that for you before?” He asked, kissing gerard’s neck again.

“No… Nobody would ever do that for a wh—”

“Shh. You deserve everything. I’m not mad at you, you know… For last night at work. Ray was, but he doesn’t understand us. I don’t think he ever will.” As Frank spoke, he started stroking gerard’s hand until gerard gave in and wrapped his fingers around Frank’s. “Maybe I am messed up for...for thinking it, but you’re different. You’re different in a good way. I’d rather stay out all night looking for you than sleep...if that makes sense. I’d rather be tired every day than alone all the time. I didn’t realize it, but I’m sick of being lonely. And you treat me better than most people from my past… I dated some rough people, my parents were rough people… People who’d seen some shit growing up and it took its toll on them—and you know what? They were bitter and mean and they took it out on me. They accused me of shit I’d never do, and made me feel like the loser when they up and left or made me feel like I had nowhere to turn. Then there’s you who has the right to be jaded and cruel, but you’re not.” Frank shifted so he could look gerard in the eye. He looked serious and the expression almost made the tension return to gerard’s stomach. “You love me...”

“Of course,” gerard said, nervously licking his lips. Frank wasn’t usually open with him about feelings, and hardly spoke of his life before outside of the dog he chose over living with his mother. He didn’t know what to say to him. 

“I think I forgot what that feels like,” Frank said. Closing his eyes and shifting back into the position he’d been in. He squeezed gerard a little tighter, then fell quiet. 

After a little while, gerard was sure he’d gone back to sleep.

( ) ( ) ( )

_I think I forgot what that feels like..._

The words played over and over again in gerard’s mind. 

_You love me,_ he’d said. _I think I forgot what that feels like._

_I forgot what that feels like._

_You love me… I forgot what that feels like._

_Love me. I forget what it feels like._

Gerard couldn’t get the words out of his head. Frank was still holding him and sleeping, and gerard held him in return—wide awake and listening to the rain beating against the windows. 

He stayed still so Frank could sleep, afraid to disturb him—afraid to break the peace that had settled down over them. 

He was upset that Frank had returned to him injured. He hated that Ray had yelled at him and that he’d lost his standing in that other man’s eyes. Frank wasn’t a master, and Ray wasn’t a master...but he was Frank’s best friend. Ray’s opinion would matter to Frank… If he wanted gerard to go away, there was a real possibility that Ray could make it happen—whether Frank cared for gerard or not. 

He hated that it was his fault Frank had been so tired that he collapsed. He understood that Frank was strained and that he was the reason Frank was so stressed all the time. He understood, as well, that if Frank had another collapse, he could lose his job—his apartment, his dog, his whole life.

Gerard had that power now. He could ruin everything, maybe without Frank even noticing. 

But Ray would notice…

_You love me. I think I forgot what that feels like._

But would Frank care? If Ray told him gerard was bad and a threat and not worth keeping, would Frank care? If he was as lonely and desperate for love as gerard, would he care what the price was to get it?

Gerard didn’t… He’d do anything for anyone if it meant a kind word or a soft touch instead of a painful blow.

Frank shifted around, moaning as he woke up a second time. He kissed gerard’s neck as he slowly started sitting up, groaning and whining sleepily as he moved to lean against t he headboard.

“Did you sleep at all? You look so tired,” Frank said, petting gerard’s hair.

Gerard closed his eyes and smiled, Frank’s gentle touches soothing him to his very core. 

“Your forehead is warm… Are you feeling sick?”

“No,” gerard whispered, reaching up to grab Frank’s hand and bringing his bandaged knuckles to his lips. He kissed them, nuzzled them...wouldn’t let go when Frank tried to take his hand back.

“You okay, Sweetheart?”

“You love me,” gerard said, closing his eyes.

“Yeah. I do.”

“I never knew what that felt like before...” Gerard opened his eyes slowly and was met with Frank staring down at him with a mixed look of pity.

“Well lets hope you never have to go without it again… You’re good. You deserve to be loved.”

Gerard kissed Frank’s knuckles again, squeezing his eyes shut as if it could lock Frank’s words inside of him. 

Good… Frank told him he was good. 

In the back of his mind, he could hear his Trainer screaming. He could hear that cold, evil voice calling him worthless—calling him ugly and worthless and dumb. 

“You love me,” gerard said.

“Yes,” Frank said, giggling a little—not able to see how pain gerard was in. How could he ever know?

“You love me...”

“Yes,” Frank repeated, this time kissing gerard on the lips after saying it. 

Frank kissed him, and gerard felt the searing pain of his Trainer’s whip cracking against his back. It was so sharp, so intense, he flung himself upwards against Frank’s chest. He kissed him on the mouth, hard, and clung to him desperately. He let his fingers curl around the short hairs at the base of Frank’s neck, let the smell of his new partner flood his throat.

Partner… 

Partner…

Frank climbed over top of him and gerard tilted his head back in offering, closing his eyes as Frank sucked on his throat. 

Even on Master’s gentlest nights, he never treated gerard like this…

Master never loved him. Not really…

If they fucked, he never let gerard lay on his back—not after their first few times together. Gerard clung too tightly, scratched too deeply with his nails.

Frank didn’t say anything about it. He moaned when gerard clutched onto him. He moaned when gerard scratched his back, even when he got his hands under Frank’s shirt. He nipped gerard’s throat a couple times, but that was all—no slap to the face for breaking skin with his nails, no rough treatment to flip him onto his stomach instead. Frank just moaned and let his teeth scrape gerard’s neck until his whole body started to shake from it. 

He kept his fingernails buried in Frank’s back, even after it was over. He couldn’t get himself to let go—not with his hands or his legs or his thighs. He held Frank’s body as tightly as he could, feeling the other man’s breath on his neck. 

“I love you, Sweetheart,” Frank whispered. 

Gerard shivered and squeezed his legs more tightly around Frank’s hips. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Frank asked, one hand stroking gerard’s cheek while the other propped him up. 

“I don’t want things to change,” gerard whispered, his body still shivering as he stared at Frank’s throat, unable to look him in the eyes.

He felt as if he were being pulled a thousand different directions at once. He wished he could shrink, turn into a tiny stone Frank could carry with him anywhere he went—never having to leave him at home. He wished he could be with Frank everywhere, always, so his mind couldn’t get the chance to wander—so he never had to remember anything bad.

“What’s going to change?” Frank asked. “Sweetheart, what’s going to change?”

“You love me...”

“I do.”

Frank loved him. As he was… As he was right _now._ Frank loved him lost, loved him broken… Every day he felt more and more different—getting thoughts he wouldn’t dare to have as a slave. What was going to happen when the rest of that training fell away? What was Frank going to feel for him then?—When Gerard didn’t cower, didn’t show dependence? 

What if he became a monster? What if his training fled him and he became the unworthy beast his Masters always told him he was?

“What’s wrong? You can tell me… Gerard. Tell me… What’s going to change?”

“Me...”

“I know,” Frank whispered, a smile audible in his voice. “I see a little more of you every day. I’m excited to find out who you’re going to be…” Frank kissed his cheek and gerard turned his head so he could get a second kiss on the mouth. 

Excited…

Frank was excited about him. 

Had anyone ever said that to him before?—That they were excited to see him? To meet him? 

Gerard buried his face in Frank’s neck, taking in his scent again. Sweat, sex, dog hair...him. Gerard kissed his neck over and over, worshiping the small swatch of skin his mouth could reach.

“Frank?”

“Hm?”

The rain struck harder against the windowpane, the wind roaring a little louder outside.

“Are we going to stay like this?”

“I hope,” Frank answered, pulling away completely. 

Gerard let his arms fall to his sides, his legs still spread and open—already missing Frank’s weight between them. He watched his partner change clothes, getting dressed to take his dog for a walk.

“You want to come with me?” He asked.

Gerard shook his head and then accepted the kiss Frank gave him before leaving the bedroom. 

“I won’t take long.”

Gerard watched him go, slowly rolling over onto his side and nestling back into the blankets as he stared at the bedroom door way. Sweet Pea yapped in the other room as Frank hooked her on her leash. 

The door opened. Closed. Locked.

Gerard turned his back to the doorway and started stroking the bed sheets next to him where Frank had been just moments ago. 

Love…

Is that what this was? The heavy, lonely feeling in his chest? 

Waiting for Frank to come back from the walk felt the same as waiting for Master to come home when he’d been trapped down in the basement by the Bad Man. He felt helpless, scared. 

“Still not up?”

Frank was looking in at him from the doorway, hair drenched with rain.

“I’m going to start making dinner. You hungry?”

Gerard stared at him, not able to form words or put on a smile. Frank watched him, his face looking concerned as gerard slowly sat up and stood to come over to him. His legs felt unsteady as he shuffled over to his new partner, and he couldn’t help but lean his weight into the embrace as he wrapped Frank up in his arms.

“It’s not like you to be this quiet,” Frank said.

Gerard just held Frank tighter and kissed his neck again—the same spot he’d favored all night and morning.

“I know it’s been a rough couple of days for you,” Frank said, rubbing slow circles into gerard’s back. “You know I’m always going to be here for you, right? No matter what happens or what changes.”

Gerard kissed his neck again and let out a soft sigh, his eyes closed.

“You sure you’re feeling okay? Your body’s burning up.”

“I’m fine,” gerard whispered.

I love you, Frank had said. I know it’s been rough, Frank had said. Do you _want_ to come with me, he’d asked. Are you sure you’re okay, he asked.

“Baby, you’ve got a fever.”

Frank cared about him.

Frank cared about Gerard. He saw Gerard...he _noticed._

“Get some clothes on and I’ll make dinner,” Frank said, kissing Gerard’s cheek and backing a step away. “Get dressed, Sweetheart.” 

Gerard followed him out of the bedroom, still unclothed, and wrapped his arms around Frank’s waist when he stopped by the kitchen counter. He kissed his neck again, drinking up Frank’s quiet sigh as he leaned his chest against Frank’s back. 

“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me,” Frank said, reaching back and entwining his fingers in Gerard’s hair, massaging the base of his neck in those same little circles. “What is it?” He asked, sounded desperate—sounding helpless. 

“I love you,” Gerard said. _“I_ love you.”

Frank’s eyes closed and he leaned his head back on Gerard’s shoulder.

“I like hearing you say that,” Frank whispered. 

“I love you,” Gerard repeated. 

Frank moaned softly and smiled, playing with Gerard’s hair again. 

“Frank?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” Gerard said, nuzzling Frank’s hair.

“For what?”

Gerard kissed his neck again, then let his arms fall from Frank’s waist. Frank turned around and kissed him, smiling gently. 

“For what?” Frank asked again. 

Gerard leaned in and kissed him again, letting his tongue trace Frank’s bottom lip until he was allowed inside. Frank sucked his tongue, working their mouths together until Gerard broke away, panting, and went to get dressed.


	22. Where the Truth Comes Out

The next few days passed peacefully for the two of them. Frank was given three days off work to rest up and recover, and though he feared he couldn’t afford the time off, he knew he needed it. 

Gerard helped him out around the apartment, cleaning up and making meals so Frank didn’t have to, and followed Frank down the city streets when he took Sweet Pea on her walks. He was more affectionate than usual, but Frank just attributed it to their increase in time spent together. 

Frank noticed too that Gerard hadn’t once slipped up and called him Master or Sir since the night Frank had gotten injured. Not one single time. He hoped it was because Gerard was getting better and finally starting to understand his position with Frank and in the world in general, but he tried not to be too optimistic. Gerard had stopped calling him Master once before only to slip back into the habit when situations became tense or he got stressed.

One other thing Frank had really noticed in the days he’d been at work, was how often Gerard was trying to sleep with him. 

At first he thought it was because he’d gotten hurt and Gerard was trying to make it up to him in the only way he knew how, then Frank wondered if it was because of the blowjob. Gerard said he’d never gotten one before Frank had offered and clearly it was an experience he enjoyed. 

Yet when Frank offered it a third time, Gerard had shied away from him until later in the night when they went all the way instead.

It seemed Gerard was _constantly_ trying to get something from him—or offer something to him, rather. Any small gesture of affection Frank offered, whether it was a kiss on the lips or even a small smile, seemed to trigger something that led Gerard to try to take things one step further. 

A smile needed to be a kiss, a kiss needed to use tongue, hands needed to find their way underneath each others clothes, clothes belonged on the floor, they belonged in bed…

Every day, all day, it was like that. For three days straight.

Frank hoped it would stop when he finally went back to work, but that only seemed to make things worse—if worse was even the right word.

He wasn’t complaining—truly, he wasn’t! Sex with Gerard wasn’t something he would pass up, but it didn’t change the fact that he always felt guilty of something after it was over.

Was it okay to be doing this, he wondered. Was it really okay to sleep with him given the circumstances? Sure, Gerard seemed into it, but what was _his motivation?_

Frank slept with Gerard because he liked him, because he found him attractive and it flattered him to have someone around who really loved him that much. But what did Gerard get out of it? What did someone who had lived most of his life enslaved get out of having Frank on top of him every night?

Security? Comfort? A sense of purpose?

Frank was so afraid that, without even trying, he was using Gerard in the same way his Masters had…

From what he understood, a lot of the men kept their prisoners under their control using drugs—getting them hooked and keeping them trapped through their dependency. Those slaves were deemed addicts by society, would be scorned—probably—if they did escape and try to find help. And their Masters, knowing that, made sure their slaves were so afraid of going to jail that they would stay in their hell houses and put up with whatever tortures came their way.

Gerard’s Master hadn’t been like that. His Master controlled him through affection and fear… No one chained him in the mansion. Doors could’ve been opened—he could’ve run away any time he chose.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t…

Despite the beatings and the rape and the sheer _indifference_ his Master had shown him, Gerard believed that man loved him. His self-worth was so wrecked by his Trainer and his poor upbringing that he believed that cruel man was the only one who could love him or care for him despite his flaws.

That was why he stayed, Frank realized. That was why Gerard never even considered running away no matter how much he feared his Master in the beginning. He knew no one else would ever care about him—and if he ran and was caught, that affection would be gone forever.

Was that how he felt about Frank, too?

Was Gerard afraid that if he did go home, Frank would turn against him? Did he think if he didn’t offer himself completely at the slightest hint of positive attention, that Frank would tire of him and turn him out onto the streets?

Frank was realizing, really for the first time, the extent and magnitude of the situation he’d gotten himself into. 

Gerard was no average person with average problems. There were things _wrong_ with him, things Frank wasn’t equipped to fix…

So what was he going to do?

Frank wondered that as they lay in bed together at four in the afternoon—what was he going to do?

Gerard was laying with his head on Frank’s chest, playing with one of Frank’s hands and kissing his knuckles every now and then.

“Baby?” Frank asked, staring at their feet as Gerard shifted against him.

“Hm?” Gerard tilted his head up to look at Frank, then took the opportunity to kiss his neck.

“Have you ever, I don’t know…thought about going out when I’m not home?”

“I… I walk Sweet Pea sometimes if you’re working late, and...and I take the laundry to the laundry room for you.”

“I know, but what about like going out for a walk or to get coffee or something?”

“No. I stay here,” Gerard said dismissively before settling back down against Frank’s chest.

“But you know you can go out, right? That I wouldn’t be upset.”

“I… I don’t like it outside. It’s too loud here. Too many people.” 

Frank just hummed, feeling disappointed somehow and not sure why.

“At first I was kind of scared of this place,” Gerard added. “I’m not used to being alone. The last time I lived alone like this was in Trainer’s basement. He’d leave me there for hours...then come torture me and then disappear. Then Master, he went to work but Marcus was _always_ there. Marcus and Adam and sometimes...others, too.”

“Others?” Frank asked. Gerard had never once mentioned anybody else besides the Bad Man his Master had shot and another man who had “babysat” for his Master before when he was away on business.

“Sometimes,” Gerard said, sounding very far away as he squeezed Frank’s hand a little tighter.

“Like other…other slaves?”

“Sometimes,” Gerard repeated.

“That he owned?”

“Yeah...”

“So it was you and Marcus and Adam, and then...he had others, too?”

“Sometimes.”

“What happened to them?” Frank asked, squeezing Gerard’s hand in return.

“Master knocked one down the stairs. He hit his head and… He hit his head and broke his back. The doctor couldn’t help him and he died. I never liked him anyway. And there was another kid Master couldn’t get to behave. I think he sold him but I don’t know.”

“So...he had more than just you three a lot.”

“He wanted five of us, but it never really worked out that way.”

“Five? He wanted _five_ people?”

“I think so… He said that once but I don’t know if he was serious or just drunk. I guess he said it was hard to find a good match. Adam and Marcus...they complimented each other and then there was me. I was his favorite.”

“Of course,” Frank said, wrapping his arms around Gerard’s shoulders and holding him tightly. What kind of psychopath wanted to keep five people hostage?

“I didn’t like Adam but I got along with Marcus. I think we both respected him since he was older than us. The new kids Master kept buying just didn’t...listen. They would listen to Master but they wouldn’t obey Marcus or listen to me. He wanted his house to be peaceful and if we were all fighting it made his house feel tense, he said.”

“So how many others were there? Just those two? The one he killed and the one he sold?”

“There was...the one who didn’t listen and disappeared, and the one Master killed...and the one I killed.”

Frank felt his blood run cold. Did he hear that right? Gerard had said it so calmly, no remorse or regret at all. 

“You...you killed someone, Gerard?” Frank asked, wondering if it was such a good idea to be holding him like this. 

“Yeah… I liked him.”

“It was an accident, right? Like the one who fell down the stairs? You got in a fight?”

Gerard didn’t answer him and Frank was afraid to pry.

“Frank?”

“Yes?”

“It was better that way, Frank.”

“Why was it better?” Frank asked, many images racing through his mind of that evil, hostile look Gerard got whenever he was angry or felt he’d been wronged. It hadn’t just been his imagination...Gerard had hatered in his soul and possessed the violence to back it up.

If he did something Gerard didn’t like, what was to stop him from slitting Frank’s throat or strangling him to death and claiming it was all self-defense when the cops came?

“He was young. Not...not like his age, but his mind. I-I guess he had something wrong with him, a-a handicap or something. No one trained him, Frank, he just did what he was told because that’s what he did. He didn’t know what was happening. I felt so bad,” Gerard said, his voice breaking. 

So he did feel remorse, Frank thought, the slightest bit of relief touching him.

“I couldn’t stand it. He didn’t understand why Master kept touching him like he did or why he wanted to do those things that hurt him—he didn’t know why Master was hurting him. He didn’t know what _sex_ was.”

“What did you do?” Frank asked, feeling sicker by the second. It wasn’t some grown man Gerard had the nerve to kill, it was someone who couldn’t even stand up to him. A child, for all intents and purposes, so innocent and untainted it couldn’t even comprehend the sick things that were happening in that house.

“I put him to sleep… Smothered him with the pillow. The doctor told Master he must’ve had a heart condition that they didn’t know about. Said he must’ve just died in his sleep. Marcus slept in Master’s room the night I did it and Adam hated that kid so he wasn’t going to say anything if killed him. Master doesn’t know I did it...but I had to. I couldn’t take it. You don’t know what that’s like, Frank, to hear those things happening and know you can’t stop it.”

“You could’ve gotten help… You could’ve left the house,” Frank said, rubbing his hand up and down Gerard’s side in an attempt to calm the other man’s trembling. 

“No, Frank. No. You don’t leave the house—you can’t leave the house.”

“What was to stop you?”

“H-He had people in the streets. If we left, they’d know, they’d tell him.” He said it like he still believed it, like he though his Master had actually paid men to patrol the cities and keep an eye out of his slaves. 

“You scare me sometimes, you know?” Frank said, sighing and tipping his head back. Yes, he’d definitely got himself into something more than he could handle…

“Why? I’d never hurt you, Frank,” Gerard said, pulling away from him and coming to sit at his side. “You know that, right? I-I just did what I had to…”

“You killed someone, Gerard. I know you were trying to help him, but don’t you see what that means?” No, Frank realized just by looking him in the eyes, he didn’t. 

And maybe the same could be said of Frank. Gerard, who wouldn’t dream of disobeying one of his Masters, felt so bad for one of the other slaves he’d killed it—stolen it from his Master forever—and kept it a secret for years.

“How old were you then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know...”

“It was a long time ago. He bought me...then Jamar who he killed, then Sam who got sold or something, then Nick...then someone else. I don’t remember his name. He got sold, then Master bought Joshua.”

“And he had money for all these people, huh?” Frank asked, wanting to change the subject because it made him feel physically sick.

“I guess so,” Gerard said, looking away when Frank met his gaze. “I think… I think I’m going to take a shower.”

He didn’t wait for Frank to say anything, just climbed out of the bed and locked himself in the bathroom for close to two hours. In that time, Frank had gotten dressed and moved to sit in the living room on the couch, staring at his phone and wanting to text Ray but afraid to. 

He couldn’t handle this alone, but how was he going to tell Ray he was living with a murderer—but then ask him not to worry about it or try to intervene? Maybe he ought to talk to Mikey instead, see what he had to say about it… 

Gerard came out of the bathroom, dressed in fresh clothes, and stared at Frank from the hallway, not coming into the living area.

“What’s the matter?” Frank asked, trying to pretend their conversation never happened. Maybe it was best just to forget about it. He had never lived through the things Gerard had and he didn’t want to know what that poor kid had gone through that made Gerard so desperate that he killed it to put it out of its misery. 

“I think I’m going to go out for a while,” Gerard said.

“Out? Like...for a walk?” Frank asked, standing up from the couch. 

Gerard shrank back into the hallway, keeping his eyes trained on the floor as Frank came near him.

“Do you want me to go with you? We can take Sweet Pea—”

“I… I want to go out for a while. Alone, I think… If I can.”

It was a bad idea. “Of course,” Frank said regardless.

Gerard stood in front of him still staring at the floor for a moment longer, then slipped past him and rushed out of the apartment, barely remembering to close the door behind him—and was gone for seventeen hours.

( ) ( ) ( )

“Where did you go?” Frank asked him. Gerard shrugged and wouldn’t answer. “I was worried sick about you.”

“I needed to get out.”

“For a whole day? You needed to stay out all night? I called off _work_ to look for you!”

Gerard didn’t care for the anger in Frank’s voice, but he guessed it was his own fault. He’d let his guard down over the past few days and let slip his darkest secret with the foolish belief that Frank would understand—that Frank would comfort him and tell him it was okay and that he’d done the right thing.

Frank didn’t understand. Frank was _wrong,_ and Gerard wanted so badly to just _hit_ him and scream that what he’d done wasn’t bad. 

Frank would never know because he’d never been there. He didn’t see the way that poor, poor kid’s eyes lit up whenever Gerard would take the time to teach him drawing—or how his lip would start to quiver and his eyes would tear up the very _instant_ he saw their Master watching him in that telltale way. Frank didn’t have to hear that kid crying all night—“What did I do bad? How was I bad? I won’t do it again! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Over and over the whole time he was fucked because he thought he was being punished for something. He didn’t know—he didn’t _know what was happening to him._

Frank never had to hear that, not even once—and Gerard heard it over and over and over. 

It made him so angry. That was why he had to leave.

He was angry and sad and if he didn’t leave he knew he would’ve done something awful. He made himself walk until he was exhausted, then sit until his head was clear before the paranoia and painful thirst led him back home. 

“I didn’t ask you to call off work,” Gerard said.

“What choice did I have with you missing? I was worried!”

“About a murderer?” Gerard snapped. “Isn’t that what you think I am? Some psycho-killer with no heart? Isn’t that what you think of me!? That I was too selfish to get him help? I would have! If I could, I would have but it’s just not possible! Why do you blame me for _everything?_ It’s not my fault!”

“Gerard, I’m not blaming you for anything! I was worried, that’s all! I didn’t know if you went home or if someone hurt you. I was scared to death,” Frank said, looking hurt. 

“You think I’m a murderer. I’m surprised you care at all where I went,” Gerard spat. He was shivering again and the hot coffee Frank had poured him wasn’t helping.

“I don’t think you’re a murderer. I think you were confused and in a really fucked up spot. I just… Last night I didn’t expect you to spring something like _that_ on me. Christ! What did you think I would say? Good job?”

“I thought you’d understand, but I was wrong! You never will… No one will,” Gerard growled before swallowing another mouthful of coffee despite his shaking hands.

“You’re right. I-I’ll never know what that was like for you. No one will because most of the people you meet are never going to have been in that situation. It caught me off guard, but I can’t judge you. I _wouldn’t._ I was in your world for about two hours, Gerard. That’s it. I had one taste of your hell and I could barely handle it. I wouldn’t be able to make it as long as you have. So, no, I don’t think you’re some psycho-killer or a bad person. I think you were aput in a really fucked up situation with only fucked up choices to make. Who the hell am I to judge you for that?”

It comforted him, but not by much. He was still trembling even after his coffee was gone and Frank led him back to the bedroom to change clothes and lay down. 

“I’m going to try picking up a shift tonight...are you going to be okay here by yourself? I can call Mikey. He’s probably worried too.”

“Did you tell him what I did?” Gerard asked as he laid down on the bed, not realizing until he’d completely collapsed just how exhausted his body was after walking all night.

“No. That’s not my business to tell.” 

Frank went back to the living room and Gerard listened to him call his co-workers and ask for their shifts until he finally got someone to say yes to a shift tonight and an opening shift the next morning. He spent that evening alone, then had Frank come lay down next to him for a few hours that night before getting up early and leaving him again without so much as a kiss goodbye.

His thoughts taunted him, keeping him from getting up and walking Sweet Pea like he knew needed to—so when Frank came home later that afternoon to piss all over the apartment, he was less than pleased and Gerard had nothing to say in his own defense. 

After he cleaned up the mess, Frank showered then told Gerard to get up to eat lunch at least before he went back to work. 

Gerard tried to help Frank cook but ended up feeling like he was in the way more than anything, so he retreated to the couch and laid down again. 

A few more days passed like that, neither of them really talking to the other, then Frank made them go grocery shopping on his day off. It surprised Gerard when Frank bought them both alcohol and flashed a fake ID at the register to purchase it. 

Frank told him they were going to have a movie night and wanted to make the most of it. Gerard liked the idea, mostly because he knew he’d finally be getting a real drink after going months without it. Master had wine with every meal and let Gerard drink nearly as much as he wanted on the nights he chose him to sleep with. 

Gerard made dinner for them, but left the tofu up to Frank to prepare, then ate with Frank on the couch while sucking down beer after beer as they watched a bad gladiator movie Frank said was really great. Gerard didn’t care for it, but the beer helped keep him agreeable. 

After the gladiator movie, Frank put on a horror film and that kept Gerard’s attention despite the fair amount of booze in his veins. He’d had five beers and was feeling light-headed and giddy. Frank had had three and though his cheeks were getting red, he didn’t seem to be enjoying the night as much as Gerard.

Gerard was determined to change that.

“Frank?”

“What?” Frank asked, sipping from his mostly empty bottle.

“Where did you get your dog?” Gerard asked, knowing that that stupid rat was the key to Frank’s happiness.

“Just the animal shelter. Picked her out ‘cause no one else wanted her. They all said she looked weird. Why?”

“I just wondered if you found her like you did me.”

“In a way, I guess,” Frank said, smiling at Gerard, then turning back to the TV.

“Your mom didn’t want you to have her, you said,” Gerard pried, hoping to get Frank talking.

“Nope.” Frank really didn’t seem to want to talk.

“I bet she wouldn’t want you to have me either.”

“No. She wouldn’t… Because you’re a guy. And I’m a guy—so it’s unnatural.”

“Unnatural, huh?” Gerard asked, laughing as he slid from the couch onto the floor so he could put his head on Frank’s knee.

“What was your family like? Did they know about you?”

“I don’t know… My grandma said she did. I didn’t tell them… My dad would’ve killed me.” Gerard shuddered at the thought. 

“What were you like? Back before everything… What did you do?”

“I was in school,” Gerard said, opening a fresh beer and drinking from it quickly. What was he like? He didn’t know how to answer that question. He barely remembered that part of his life except for small bursts and flashes. “I was...bad. I was a bad kid, Frank. I got picked on a lot and...did drugs a lot. I lied a lot. I didn’t have any friends except Mikey. I was really lonely...”

“Well, you don’t have to be lonely now. You’ve got me and Sweet Pea and Ray.”

Gerard scoffed at that and took another swig of beer. Yeah, he totally had Ray. Ray who hated his fucking guts.

“What were you like?” Gerard asked, trying to get the focus off himself. He wanted Frank to open up to him for a change, share some of his dark secrets.

“I had friends… Kind of kept my nose clean for a little bit. I got really into rock and started playing in some bands with Ray and some other people. My dad got me really into music and my grandpa played drums. My parents divorced when I was a kid, but I still...you know, I kept in touch. They bought all my equipment.” Frank told story after story about his dad and his grandpa and how they played drums and how he loved guitar. He finally started to look happy and the booze did the rest.

Gerard slowly moved around until he was sitting between Frank’s knees on the floor, his head resting on the inside of Frank’s thigh. He watched Frank’s mouth as he talked, telling a story about how his dad bought a house in the city and sometimes kept his drum kit in the garage and other times kept it in the basement—and how odd it was that he never left it in one place. Gerard let him talk, then crawled up Frank’s body to kiss him on the mouth. 

“You really do love me, don’t you?” Frank asked as Gerard settled back down at his feet.

“Yes,” Gerard said, giggling a little. 

“Why?” Frank asked, smiling at him.

The question made Gerard stop and think for a moment, though it was hard with his mind spinning from the beer. 

“I remember your eyes that night,” Gerard said, simultaneously calling on the memory and shoving it away. “You liked me. I knew it.”

“I was worried about you,” Frank said. “I didn’t want someone to hurt you.”

“You were so different from anyone—”

“Yeah, because I’m not a crazy person,” Frank said, slurring his words a little. 

“No, I mean _anyone._ Masters like the look of me, they like...my body and what they can do with it. Marcus liked me...because I liked him, and I didn’t hurt him. But I never had friends...not really. No one wanted to be friends with me… But you came and you took care of me because you’re good and kind. No one made you...you could’ve left me. Even at the hospital, you could’ve left me.”

“I wouldn’t have left you there without anyone to help you. You’d just end up on the street,” Frank said, rubbing his face.

Knowing he couldn’t win the argument, knowing Frank was too modest to accept a simple compliment, Gerard did the next best thing he could think of and pressed his cheek to the inside of Frank’s thigh, nuzzling it until Frank finally made eye contact with him again. 

They stared at each other for a long time before Gerard took things further and began running his hands up Frank’s thighs and hips until the other man finally unzipped his jeans and gave Gerard what he wanted.

It was strange, Gerard thought as he wrapped his lips around the head of Frank’s cock. His Trainer and his Master and the Bad Man all wanted this from him so badly and he always hated it, but with Frank… With Frank, he didn’t mind as much. He didn’t love it and wished they could do anything else, but Frank seemed so appreciative and so into it that Gerard didn’t hate it _as much._ He’d put up with the impulse that screamed at him to gag, the repulsive taste, the ache in his jaw if that was what it took to see Frank smile genuinely at him.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank didn’t know how he’d gotten here, but he found himself sucking down a cigarette in the bitter cold outside of the hospital with Mikey. Gerard was inside with both of his parents, visiting his grandmother who—as Frank had learned—was in hospice care dying of cancer. Mikey had come to the apartment early that morning and begged Frank to let him take Gerard to the hospital to see her, and Gerard in turn begged that Frank come with them.

Frank felt it wasn’t his place, that he should honestly stay home and sleep off his hangover before his clo-pen shift that night, but Gerard said he needed him. Gerard stared at him with so much desperation that Frank couldn’t say no. Even if it meant coming face-to-face with Gerard’s parents who would no doubt have more than a few choice words for him, Frank couldn’t refuse.

Gerard was still drunk when Mikey had shown up, but he did a decent job hiding it when they reached the hospital. He hid behind Frank as they went inside, kept his head down in the hallways as if he were trying to make himself look invisible, then refused to even face his parents when they reached the hospital room. His grandmother was asleep in her bed at that point so his parents couldn’t raise their voices, but Frank could tell they were angry just by looking at them.

“What is he doing here?” Gerard’s mother snapped. She was a short women with a mass of blonde curls spilling down her shoulders and her back, with unfriendly eyes that reminded Frank a bit too much her son. 

“I wanted him here,” Gerard said before Frank could even open his mouth—surprising everyone in the room. 

“Gerard, Grandma is very sick—” his mother began.

“And last time she asked to meet him. She asked to meet him, so he came. Because I asked him,” Gerard said, still staring at the wall to his left and not his family.

The tension was so thick Frank felt he might start to gagging. He didn’t belong here, even if Gerard wanted him there, and everyone knew it. 

Gerard’s father didn’t look nearly as hostile as Frank had been expecting though. In his imagination, he’d formed the image of a monstrous man who had thrown his own son down a flight of stairs, but the guy seemed so ordinary it came as a shock. Grey hair, faint traces of stubble on his weathered cheeks, no hard lines in his features at all. He looked confused and wary about Frank, but not hateful like his wife.

“So this is—”

“Frank. His name is Frank,” Gerard said, turning his eyes away from the wall but not moving his head. He was glaring at them, Frank realized. He was scowling darkly at his parents with the same ferocity he had when Frank had pissed him off before—that dangerous look Frank dared to say he was frightened of.

“Frank,” his father said, nodding and then stepping over to Frank and extended his hand.

Frank was so shocked by the gesture it took him several seconds to realize the man was attempting to shake his hand.

“How’s it going?” Frank said as they shook hands, at a loss for what else to say.

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Minus a few things.”

Frank nodded awkwardly and backed a step away once the man quit trying to break his hand by squeezing it in a death grip. 

No one said anything after that. Mikey fidgeted, the old woman slept, Gerard glared at everyone, and the married couple stared at Frank.

“I’m going to take a smoke break,” Mike interjected suddenly. “Frank?”

Frank ignored the hand Gerard tried to use to snag him and hurried out of the room after Mikey—desperate to get away from whatever altercation was about to go down. Gerard needed to face his family, and he couldn’t hide behind Frank if he weren’t in the room—and his parents couldn’t hurt him if they were in public. Maybe this was for the best, Frank thought. Maybe this was how it should be.

That didn’t make it any less terrifying though.

“They say she’s probably not going to...last much longer,” Mikey said, shivering a little as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. 

“I’m sorry,” Frank said, offering Mikey a sincere look.

“It’s hard… We were both really close to Grandma. Gerard even more than me. I’m glad he could see her before, you know… I’m glad, but I’m worried about what it’s going to do to him. He’s not like he used to be. He’s different now, I mean. It’s weird… I look at him and I feel like I’ve never met him before.”

“He just needs time to come back, I think,” Frank said before taking another drag from his cigarette. “He’s seen some shit. I think he’s just now starting to process how much he’s actually been through.”

“I guess. Makes sense,” Mike said. “Is he… Is he, like, okay? I was reading about some things… Research, I guess, about people rescued from human trafficking and some of the struggles they face.”

“He’s… He’s got bad memories and he has nightmares a lot, but he doesn’t talk about them. Sometimes I’ll get up for work and he’s crying in the living room or the other day he just walked out and was gone forever.”

“You didn’t tell me he walked out,” Mike said, accusation heavy in his tone.

“I knew he just wanted to clear his head. I was afraid if we tried to get him he might snap. He’s opening up more to me about some of the things he’s seen and what’s happened. That guy… Les. His name was Les or Lester or something. That guy is twisted.”

“Do you think we could get Gerard to talk to the cops about it? Maybe get the fucker arrested?”

“No. Gerard’s scared he’ll hurt Marcus. Marcus is another guy who lived there with him—another slave. The guy probably would kill him, too, if he thought the cops were after him.”

“So he just goes free? He gets to torture my brother and he gets away with it?” Mikey stubbed out his cigarette and lit another.

“Is he going to be okay up there?” Frank asked, looking overhead as though he could see through all the concrete and glass to the hospital room where Gerard and his parents were.

“I talked to Mom and Dad. I told them to just take it easy. I… I haven’t said what he went through yet. I didn’t want… I-I don’t want Mom to know. I think it’d kill her if she knew. And Dad… He’s kind of a homophobe. I think I always knew Gerard was _different,_ and I think Dad knew, too. I’m a little afraid he’ll say something or...just blame Gerard for it happening because he was interested in men.”

“So...is he going to be okay up there?” Frank asked, dropping his cigarette and crushing it with his shoe.

“He seemed to be holding his own against Mom. He’s different today.”

“He’s drunk. We drank last night.”

“Great,” Mikey said before taking a long drag. “Exactly what we need.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” Frank asked after a long silence. He was watching a homeless person beg for change across the street and thought back to how Gerard had run away and disappeared for nearly twenty-four hours.

“With them?” Mikey asked, gesturing overhead.

“With Gerard… I’m not trying to keep him from you guys. I’ve been telling him since day one he needed to go home, but he doesn’t want to. I want to see him more independent and I’m trying to do what I can to get him there, but I don’t want it to happen too fast. He gets anxious and overwhelmed really easy and then...he either breaks down and cries or he lashes out. He’s unpredictable.”

“When we were kids, Gerard got bullied a lot. People beat him up, called him names… He never stood up for himself. He always just hid in his room and would draw or write little poems or read his comics. I know it’s fucked up to say it, but when he attacked our Dad that night they tried to bring him home, I was proud of him. I didn’t realize it until later, but I was proud of him for sticking up for himself—for fighting back for once. You said he’s been through Hell and I’m over here _glad_ that he finally toughened up.”

“He’s not exactly stable, though. It comes and goes. Sometimes you call him out on something and he’ll just cry, other times he’ll fucking throw coffee on you.”

“Yeah… He’s different now,” Mikey said.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard could feel something inside of him shifting back and forth, like an anxious beast deciding whether or not to pounce or lay low a moment longer. His chest felt like he was shivering, but his hands didn’t tremble as he adjusted the collar of his jacket. 

“I wish you’d just tell us what you’ve been doing,” his mother was saying, her hand on his arm. He wanted to slap her hand away, but that beast inside of him cautioned him to lay low. Don’t hurt her, it said. Don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her, not here…

“Are you still on the drugs?” His father asked. “Is that what this is about, son?”

Gerard stared at his grandmother, sleeping, and refused to answer their questions.

“We can get you help, Gerard,” his mother said. 

“I don’t need help,” Gerard growled. He wasn’t going to tell them, he decided. He would never tell them. They didn’t deserve to know. They could spare their judgment and false concern. 

“So who is this Frank kid? Why did you bring him here?” His dad asked.

“Frank is my partner. He’s here because Grandma asked to meet him. And if you hurt him, or you say _anything_ to him, I’ll ruin you,” Gerard growled, locking eyes with his father for the first time. 

“So you did run off with some man,” his mother said, shaking her head.

Gerard hated them, he realized. He hated them for making him feel insignificant and out of place for so long. It was no wonder he didn’t fit in before with parents like these who hated what he was before he even understood what he was himself. 

_Hurt them,_ the beast growled. _Hurt them. Hurt them._

But how?

“Gerard, that guy looks like he’s barely out of high school. What are you doing with someone his age?” His mother added on.

His father said something to him, his mother replied to it, his father added something else, but Gerard wasn’t listening.

He was thinking about his Trainer. He was thinking about the things that man used to say—all the bad things. 

No one misses you. They’re glad you’re gone. They’re not even looking for you. You’re too worthless to miss. They’re glad you’re out of their way. Who could love a fat, useless fag like you?

The beast in his chest growled deeper, he could feel its rage rattling his bones.

“Oh, Gerard!”

His grandmother’s voice snapped him out of his trance, no matter how softly she’d spoken.

“You came back! I told Mikey you’d come back.”

The beast was still raging within him, but Gerard pushed it down as he stepped over to the bed and sat down in the chair beside it as his grandmother moved around to sit up.

“Of course I did,” Gerard said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. “Frank came, too. He’s with Mikey right now.”

“Oh!” His grandmother smiled at him in a sly, almost childlike way that made Gerard grin just a bit. “Do you think I look alright? I don’t want him thinking I’m some frail old woman.”

“You look fine, Grandma,” Gerard said. His mother came over to the bed and said a few words, ignoring the subject of Frank all together. The beast in Gerard’s heart growled at her, but he kept his face blank so his grandmother wouldn’t see and be frightened by it.

“Is that him?” His grandmother said, pointing with a thin hand toward the doorway behind Gerard’s shoulder. Gerard turned and nodded to Frank who had come back from his cigarette, then looked back at his grandma.

“Yeah. That’s Frank.”

“He’s young!”

“Yeah,” Gerard said, laughing a little. Why did everyone keep saying that?

Frank was nervous to come over, but Gerard’s father led him over and introduced them properly. Frank seemed afraid to touch her when she reached out a hand for him to shake, but settled down after a while when she started asking him friendly questions. 

Gerard said he had a dog, was that right? She asked. How was it? Did he have pictures of it? Her? Oh, how nice! How cute that little dog was! Did Gerard tell him she had a cat? She wasn’t much for dogs, but Frank’s dog was cute.

She liked him, Gerard realized, and the beast in his chest quit growling for a moment. She liked Frank. Suddenly, her opinion was the only one that mattered and Gerard leaned his head against Frank’s arm as his partner stood beside him. Frank stiffened and his grandmother, seeing the exchange, giggled.

“You look tired, Gerard. Long night at work?”

“I don’t work, Grandma,” Gerard answered honestly. He would never tell her where he’d been, but he wouldn’t lie to her.

“He keeps you well then,” she said laughing. She was so happy—she was happy because he was happy with Frank, Gerard realized. 

“You don’t _work?”_ His mother suddenly asked. The beast opened its eyes again.

“He’s handsome enough not to have to,” his grandmother answered on his behalf, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He flinched at the unexpected touch and saw a sudden knowing in her eyes, even after he relaxed—letting her palm cradle his cheek.

She looked at Frank curiously, then back at Gerard.

“I’m just between jobs is all,” Gerard said, not wanting to answer her unspoken question. “It was...a rough year. But I’m okay now.”

They talked a while longer, Mikey joining in, his parents joining in, Frank chiming in here and there. The nurse came, brought some food, then went away. Gerard felt his drunkenness fading away into a hangover and buried his face in Frank’s arm after a while longer—not sure if it was to block out the bright lights to soothe his headache or an attempt to sleep. 

“I have to get home for work,” Frank said. “Gerard, you can stay...for a while, alright? Visit for a bit?”

Gerard snapped awake at that. Abandoning him—Frank was abandoning him.

“Would you be okay with that? I work until tomorrow afternoon. I can come get you then.”

Why was Frank abandoning him? What did he do wrong?

“I can bring him back to your place tomorrow after lunch or...you could join us. We could go out to eat, Frank,” Gerard’s father said.

Was this some fucking custody arrangement to them? This was his _life._ This was _his_ life. He wasn’t going to be passed back and forth.

The beast growled louder, longer… It was so loud Mikey heard it.

“I’ll take him back to your place after we visit here,” Mikey said suddenly. “If that’s okay.”

“Gerard, what is it?” His grandmother asked, seeing or feeling the tension Gerard couldn’t push down.

He felt himself starting to panic, like the walls were closing in. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be alone with them. Mikey said he’d take him home, but his parents wouldn’t let him slip through their fingers again.

“Sweetheart, calm down,” Frank said, suddenly kneeling beside him. 

Why was everyone standing so close? 

“Sweetheart, look at me. Look at me. Hey…”

Gerard focused on his eyes, he really tried to.

“I have to go to work. Spend time with her,” he added in a whisper. “It’ll be okay.”

Then Frank was gone. He walked out. He really just walked out…

“Gerard?” His grandmother asked, looking so concerned about him. She didn’t need to worry about him. She was sick. He felt sick with himself for making her waste precious energy on him.

“I’m… I’m fine,” Gerard said, his body shaking now. “I need water. I need a drink.”

“I’ll go to the vending machine,” his mother chimed in quickly. “What would you like? Soda? Water?”

“Anything,” Gerard said, shivering. “I don’t know.”

His father put a hand on his shoulder and the beast finally lunged.

He jerked out of his seat and shoved his father away, not realizing who was even touching him until after it happened.

“Don’t touch me! No one touch me!” He backed away from all of them, his back hitting the wall and seeming to be the only thing that kept him on his feet. 

They kept their distance and all just stared at him as he struggled to catch his breath. Mikey was looking terrified, his father looked angry, his mother looked disappointed…

“Gerard, honey?” His grandmother said too gently. Far too gently.

“He’s on drugs,” his mother said.

“Of course that’s what you’d think,” the beast growled, using his voice. “Of course that’s what you’d say.”

“Stop,” his father warned. His cool voice stern and frightening. 

Gerard looked from him to his grandmother. She looked like she was going to cry and he couldn’t stand it. He loved her. He never meant to hurt her…

Maybe it was better if he disappeared. Maybe it was better if he’d been shot that night in the bathtub and thrown away wherever his Master dumped the bodies no one ever found.

“Dad, he’s not on drugs,” Mikey said. “He—He’s not. Please, listen to me. Don’t...Don’t do this. Don’t crowd him. Not here. Give him room.”

Slowly, everyone seemed to back down and the next thing Gerard knew he was back at his grandmother’s side drinking a Gatorade and eating some chocolate pudding his grandma didn’t want.

“Can I ask you a question?” His grandmother said.

Gerard nodded, licking the plastic spoon and sucking on it to get the last of the chocolate off. He didn’t realize how hungry he was until the first taste of sugar hit his tongue.

“Yeah.”

“Somebody hurt you, didn’t they? That’s why you’re jumpy like this.”

“Yeah,” Gerard answered, making only the briefest of eye contact before focusing on the pudding again. 

“Who?”

“Not Frank. They can’t get me now,” Gerard said, letting his own words bring him comfort.

They couldn’t get him now. He belonged to Frank and Masters knew better than to touch property that didn’t belong to them.

“They?”

“Don’t worry,” Gerard said, smiling at her. “It’s all over.”

She looked at him, worried. She was sick and weak and tired, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew something and her fragile mind struggled to make sense of it. Gerard could see it happening behind her eyes.

“You’re afraid to tell me,” she said.

“Grandma, you’re...” He almost said dying. He almost said dying and as soon as he caught himself, he started to cry. 

Why was this happening? He thought. Why couldn’t he keep himself under control?

“I know,” she said. 

“Gerard,” his mother began. It was a warning. He didn’t appreciate it.

Why couldn’t they all just leave it be? Why did they have to ask? Why did they have to pry? 

“I didn’t leave because I wanted to,” Gerard said, looking at his grandmother and trying to block the rest of them out. “You have to believe me. I didn’t choose to go.”

“You said you lived with a man in the city. Last time—”

“I lived with someone. I don’t know where I lived. It could’ve been Jersey. Could’ve been New York or Virginia. I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?” His mother snapped. 

“Did someone take you?” His grandma asked, looking at him like she knew. She knew, Gerard realized.

He nodded and she didn’t ask any more questions. No one said anything and he finished eating his pudding. He didn’t want her to know those things… Why did his parents have to ruin it? Why couldn’t they let her believe the lie he’d told before—of being a starving artist in the city with a much older boyfriend who kept him off the streets?

“Mikey, how are classes going?” His grandmother asked instead. 

They left him alone after that. No one asked him another damned question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoping my updates will be a little more frequent for a while. Let me know what you think and thanks so much for sticking with me! :)


	23. The First Steps Forward

He was in their house again, but at least no one was corralling him into the basement. Mikey offered to take him back to Frank’s, but Gerard was exhausted and didn’t feel like arguing when their parents interjected.

He sat on the couch next to Mike while his dad sat in an arm chair across the way and his mother sat in a deflated-looking recliner. They were going to start asking him questions soon, he understood, but the beast had fallen asleep and he was so tired he didn’t feel like fighting anymore. 

Dinner was in the oven and he hoped he’d get to eat before they laid in on him, but he doubted it. He was too tired to care and his head still hurt from his and Frank’s night of heavy drinking. 

“So you told Grandma someone took you,” his dad said, talking to him like he was a little kid. 

Great, so now that they were done accusing him of being on drugs, they thought him stupid.

“Someone did.”

“Do you...want to talk about it?”

“No,” Gerard said simply. 

“Do you want me to...to tell them?” Mikey asked.

Gerard looked at him and shrugged. No, he really didn’t. Because telling them would just get them emotional and he was too fucking tired to deal with it. 

“Gerard...” His mother opened and closed her mouth a few times, as if she was still deciding what to say. He wished she’d just say it. Just spit it out… “That night… You snuck out and we never saw you again. No one did. We had people looking for you for months.”

_Hurt her,_ it reminded him.

“I was in a basement,” Gerard said, the beast in him opening one of its eyes. 

His mother looked as if she’d been smacked and that pleased him. 

“You were kidnapped? Is that what you’re saying?” His dad pried. 

“If that’s what you call it,” Gerard said. 

“Gerard… Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you asking me all these questions like you give a shit about me?”

“What are you saying? You’re our son! We _love_ you, Gerard. We always have!” His mother cried.

“Right… That’s why you never bothered to call the school when I got beat up—”

“Gerard—”

“And told me no one would like me if I kept drawing and didn’t play sports with the other kids.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with you disappearing!”

“It has everything to do with it,” Gerard snapped. 

They weren’t going to take any blame. They weren’t going to admit they were wrong or that they’d pushed him out to the streets.

“He went to a party that night,” Mikey said, jumping in where he didn’t belong. “There was a guy there who took him. Isn’t that right?” He added, looking to Gerard for support. 

Gerard just stared at him, the beast shifting back and forth inside him again. 

He just wanted to _sleep._

“He...took Gerard and sold him to someone. That’s what he told me,” Mikey said, leaning forward and burying his head in his hands. 

“Sold?” His mother said, her mouth falling open wide.

“We’re talking some pedophile ring? Some sick man sold my son to, what, some...some kiddie porn set up?”

“Dad,” Mikey said, cautioning him even though it was his fault the man was involved at all. If it weren’t for Mikey, Gerard realized, he’d still be at home with Frank. No one asking him questions or pushing him to reveal what a disgusting creature he’d become.

“I just want answers! He disappears for almost a decade and _you_ know what happened and that little freak knows what happened—”

The beast snapped awake so violently Gerard felt fear in the split second before it took over. 

The next thing he knew he was screaming, words he didn’t even understand pouring out of him, and the coffee table in front of him had been flipped over. He put his fist through the wall and was still roaring with pain from it as he knelt in front of the kitchen sink, the taste of vomit in his mouth.

Mikey was next to him, he realized, rubbing his back.

“What’s happening to me?” Gerard asked, shivering as the beast crawled back down into his chest. 

“It’s fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m so sorry.”

His mother was sobbing in the next room. 

“What’s happening?” Gerard asked, shaking harder and feeling like he might throw up again.

“Nothing. Lets get you back to Frank’s okay? You’re...you’re just tired. I know it’s stressful to see Grandma like that.”

“I didn’t do this,” Gerard said, looking at his bloody hand.

“Gerard...”

“It wasn’t me,” he said, looking at Mikey desperately. 

“There’s something in me that’s bad. I-I don’t want to hurt anyone, but it...it gets so loud.”

“What does?”

“This...this monster. I’m not like this. I’m not like this—what’s happening to me?”

“You’re stressed out. It’s okay. No one blames you, okay? Mom’s fine. You just scared her.”

“Why do they keep asking me all these questions? I don’t want to talk about it! I want Frank. I want to go home...”

“I know. I’ll take you back, alright?”

“How am I supposed to tell them what happened without them blaming me? Is this my fault?—Is it my fault?”

“No! No, it’s not. No one thinks that. They just want to understand. Do you want me to tell them tonight?”

“You just did! You told them everything!”

“I-I just don’t know what else to do. I want them to understand so they quit attacking you. They think you ran off and got into drugs. Dad still thinks that...”

Gerard leaned against the sink again and squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Frank saved me.”

“I know. I know, and Dad had no right to call him a freak. He just doesn’t know what to say.”

“Master shot the Bad Man then came upstairs,” Gerard said, thinking about laying in that tub full of blood-red water. “He was going to kill me. I know it. I know he wanted to...but he didn’t. He kept me alive and I don’t know why… I think he should’ve shot me, too.”

“I’m glad he didn’t. I love you. You’re my big brother… No matter what happened, I still look up to you, Gerard.”

“Frank took me in after that… Master sold me to him at this...this auction. This awful place full of all these people. He took me to the hospital, then took me home and...he never touched me. He never put a hand on me. Not once.”

“I know.”

“He loves me,” Gerard sobbed, clutching onto the cabinet door beneath the sink as if to brace himself though he couldn’t bring himself to try to stand.

“I know he does. It shows. Grandma even noticed.”

“I thought Master loved me until I had Frank,” Gerard said, opening his eyes again. He realized then his mother was standing behind Mikey with his father. 

He hadn’t meant to confess the words to them.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank almost turned and ran when he saw Gerard and his entire family in his living room when he got home from work. Gerard was sipping coffee, Mikey was petting Sweet Pea until she leapt out of his lap, and Gerard’s parents were standing by the television. He thought he was about to be ambushed and almost ran—he really almost dropped his bag of food and ran.

But then Gerard came to hug him, took the bag from his hand, and kissed him on the cheek.

“I told them,” he whispered, and then he was unpacking the food and started eating the burger Frank had brought home for him as if he’d been starved for weeks. 

“What’s up?” Frank said, shutting the door and picking up Sweet Pea so she’d quit barking at him.

“How was work?” Gerard’s mother asked him, as though she liked him.

Frank wanted to run. 

“Uh...long,” he said with a laugh. He looked at Gerard who was still trying to scarf down the burger as if he thought someone was going to rip it out of his hands.

“We won’t be staying long,” Gerard’s father said, walking toward Frank who had to fight not to back away a step. “We just wanted to...come by and apologize for maybe how we acted at the hospital and everything else.”

“You weren’t rude—I appreciate it, but… You know, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Frank said, wondering if he’d missed something after he left. 

Gerard seemed no worse for wear though, eating the cold french fries in his box like they were candy.

“Gerard told us about how you met him...how everything happened,” the man said in hushed tones, like he didn’t want Gerard to hear.

“Oh,” Frank said, nodding.

“I wanted to offer you something,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“You don’t need to give me anything,” Frank said out of instinct.

“No, listen. Just listen. Gerard is my boy, he’s my oldest son. He wants to stay here with you and I heard you’ve been working two jobs so...here.” He took several hundred dollars out of his wallet and pushed them into Frank’s reluctant hand. “Do what you can with it...if you need more, just ask. It’s weird seeing him this thin, so if he needs more to eat...”

“Thank you,” Frank said, looking the man in the eye then glancing at Gerard’s mother. She didn’t look so hostile this time. 

“I was hoping to take him out tomorrow night to buy some clothes. He wants you to come.”

“I work until three tomorrow, but other than that...if you want me to come, I will,” Frank said anxiously. He felt like something was happening, something he didn’t comprehend. Were they studying him? Testing him to see if he were greedy or cruel to Gerard?

They chatted for about an hour, Frank getting to know them better and opening up to them about where he was in life and what had gotten him there. He could tell Gerard’s family was becoming more comfortable with him, but the whole time they talked, Gerard kept his distance. Mikey would sometimes stand with him by the kitchen counter, but after a while Gerard went and laid down in the bedroom—refusing to come out when his parents and Mikey said they were going to leave.

Frank exchanged phone numbers with them, then locked his apartment door and settled down to eat his sandwich—finally. 

After he finished, he took Sweet Pea on her walk, showered, and then came to join Gerard in the bedroom.

“How did it go staying the night at your parents’?” Frank asked, trying to make conversation with the man who stared at him emptily. What did he have to look so sad about?

“I slept in Mikey’s room. It’s weird… He’s so old now.”

“Yeah, he’s grown up now, huh?” Frank said, thinking about how old Mikey must’ve been when Gerard was taken. Frank couldn’t even imagine what that must feel like.

“I wanted to come back last night, but I was so tired...I couldn’t fight them.”

“I saw your knuckles are scabbed up. Did something happen?”

“I’m not sure…”

“Don’t want to talk about it, huh?” Frank asked as he climbed into bed and kissed Gerard on the cheek. 

“Dad said something… I got mad.”

“Did you hit him?” Frank asked.

“I think I punched the wall… I don’t remember it; it was really fast. Mom made dinner like nothing happened and I went to sleep in Mikey’s room for a while. This morning wasn’t so bad. We had breakfast...I told them everything.”

“Were you okay?” Frank asked, playing with a strand of Gerard’s hair as they lay side by side.

“I guess. They said something about police and I said don’t bother. I won’t rat on them… It doesn’t matter now.”

“I guess that’s true,” Frank said, thinking of all the other people who didn’t get saved—who might never see freedom again. 

“I told them if they tried to take me from you, they’d never see me again. I want to be here...until you don’t want me anymore.”

“I’m never going to stop wanting you, Gerard,” Frank said, shaking his head and shifting closer. Gerard wrapped and arm around his and buried his face in Frank’s neck, kissing his skin every now and then. “You’re shaking…. What’s going on?” Frank moved to put his hand on Gerard’s forehead, feeling it was still warm. “You still have a fever.”

“I’m fine. I’m...I’m scared.”

“Scared? Of what?”

“I don’t want...I don’t want things to change.”

They’d had this conversation before and Frank didn’t know what to say then and he didn’t know what to say now. He didn’t know what Gerard was afraid would change. Was he worried about being sent home or Frank losing interest in him the way his Master’s interests shifted from slave to slave?

“Sweetheart?”

Gerard responded by kissing Frank’s neck.

“Gerard, listen...”

“I am.”

“I love you, and I’m going to be here for you. That’s not going to change. Not if you live here or if you move home. It’s never going to change.”

Gerard just laid there shivering. 

“Sweetheart, I think you’re sick...”

“No… Just tired.”

Frank held him as he trembled and closed his eyes, wishing he could sleep. He was anxious and he didn’t know why, and Gerard’s shaking body didn’t make him feel any better—neither did the prospect of spending the next evening with Gerard’s mother, shopping for clothes. 

She didn’t know yet how anxious Gerard got in public, and for some reason that anxiety was turning to rage and violence when he was around his parents instead of the shivering and crying Frank usually had to handle.

Frank just didn’t know what was going to happen.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was sick, very clearly sick, and Frank felt cruel for making him come out to buy clothes. His cheeks were flushed red and he refused to wear his coat, even though it was freezing outside. Any time he was made to stand still, he’d sway on his feet.

Frank made a point to buy him as many drinks as he could while they were in the mall and going between stores, pushing Gerard to stay hydrated. 

It seemed Gerard was so ill that the amount of people swirling around him didn’t cause as much stress as usual. He merely whined when someone stood too close or asked him to step out of their way in an aisle. Gerard kept his head low and most of the time seemed to even have his eyes closed as Frank led him through the mall.

He tried to feign interest in the clothes around him, but it was clear even to Donna that Gerard wasn’t really there with them.

“What about this shirt, Gerard? What do you think?” His mother asked, holding up a long-sleeve shirt made of t-shirt fabric with black and white stripes. 

Gerard stared at her, not looking amused with anything she’d shown him. They’d looked in the juniors department and the men’s. At one point Gerard moved over to look at the suits, pointed at one on the mannequin and said his Master had the exact same one. Then he laughed and let his head hang down again.

“How about some pants, Gerard?” Frank offered when shirts held none of his interest. “You’ve only got one pair right now.”

“Yeah,” Gerard said, letting himself be led to the racks of jeans. He didn’t seemed interested in anything until Frank held them out to him. He tried on a pair or two, but didn’t seem to like them. His mother was getting frustrated since Gerard wouldn’t _pick_ anything on his own, but she kept quiet about it. 

“What do you want to wear?” Frank finally asked, unable to keep from showing his frustrations. 

“I liked my...my ripped jeans,” Gerard finally, finally said.

“Ripped jeans? What color?” Frank asked.

“I had black ones. Holes in the knees and one...one right here,” Gerard said, gesturing to the inside of his right thigh.

“We can probably find you a pair kind of like that,” Frank said, turning his attention back to the racks. The ones the first two stores had to offer were all baggy jeans with holes that Gerard didn’t want, but then they finally found a store selling skinny jeans his size. “These ones aren’t ripped but I can show you how to stress them without it looking like a home job. What do you think?” Frank asked.

“Okay,” Gerard said, smiling at him a little. His mother didn’t seem interested in the idea of Gerard wearing ripped up clothes, but she didn’t argue. 

“Keep some intact, okay? In case you want to...look nice for something.”

“Look nice for...something,” Gerard repeated, sniffing and then rubbing his eyes. 

He got five pairs of the same style of pant, three black and two dark wash. He let Frank pick out a pair of sweatpants for him to wear as pajamas, then laughed as he came across an adult-sized, hooded skeleton onesie. It immediately became his favorite thing in the world.

Frank was almost impressed at how much the novelty pajama woke Gerard up. He kept playing with the one on the hanger, smiling and laughing as his watery eyes examined the little details in the stitching. 

“Do you want that, Gerard? I’ll buy it for you. Do they have one your size?” His mother asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. It was the first time she’d touched him that day without him flinching or jerking away, and Frank could tell it soothed her. 

“I can get it? Really?” Gerard asked, sounding exactly like a little kid. 

“Of course. I’ll get you anything you want. Find your size,” she said, looking through the rack as well until they found one big enough for him. 

Gerard carried that garment himself through the rest of the store, his fever-flushed face never losing its smile.

It was nice to see him like that. It was nice to see him happy about something other than his little sketches and the food Frank brought home. Donna didn’t know just how lucky she was to get to see him like this, Frank thought.

He was still sick and out of it, but he focused a little harder on the clothes he was shown after getting to buy the skeleton pajama suit. He picked out some T-shirts and a few sweaters, but Frank noticed sometimes that the styles he chose to buy were very contradictory. 

Gerard would pick out a band tee, then want a collared button down or a polo. Then he’d want a bulky hoodie—then change his mind and want a slim-fit blazer.

He was torn, Frank realized, between dressing how his Master had dressed him and imitating Frank’s style. It would be a while before he had his own sense of fashion, but Frank understood the importance of letting him pick out anything that he wanted now—whether it was inspired by his wealthy Master or his dirt-poor boyfriend.

“Mom?”

“Hm?” 

Gerard was walking at her side while Frank trailed behind them carrying the bags. It was refreshing to see him cling to someone else for a change, allow himself to be close to someone else.

“Do you think I could get some eyeliner?”

“Eyeliner? What for?”

“I… I always wore it for him… For Les.”

It was the first time he’d ever called his Master by his name. Frank was so shocked he almost quit walking. He _never_ called that man by his name. 

“Oh,” his mother said. “Well...if you want some, I’ll...I’ll get it. We can stop somewhere at get you some. Do you need anything else? Some cologne or anything?”

“Medicine,” Gerard said, looking back over his shoulder at Frank. 

“We can get that too,” Frank answered, offering him a smile and hurrying to walk a little closer to him.

He was sick, but he was doing so well today. He hadn’t lashed out, hadn’t broken down crying—even said he wanted something without getting anxious. 

Frank got Gerard another drink from the food court before they left the mall, a slushie this time since Gerard said he was hot, not thirsty. After leaving the mall, they went to a Target store so Gerard could pick out his eyeliner while Donna bought herself some shampoo and conditioner. 

Gerard picked out an eyeliner pencil and a little bottle of liquid eyeliner, then a tube of clear lip gloss as well, smiling in a strange way at Frank as he held them. Frank guessed he should be flattered that Gerard wanted to get the makeup to impress him, but the eyeliner made him think of how he’d found Gerard at the auction house—all the black smears around his eyes from crying. 

“We should pick out some medicine for you,” Frank said.

Gerard nodded eagerly, then followed Frank to the aisles of medicine. 

“Does your throat hurt at all?” Frank asked.

“Yeah,” Gerard whined, playing it up—Frank noticed—when he was asked about it. Frank was in for a long night once he got home, he was sure of that.

“Headache or anything?”

“Everything,” Gerard said.

“I hope it’s not the flu,” his mother said, rubbing Gerard’s back.

“I think it’s just a sinus infection,” Frank said. “He was out in the old all night last week...and all the stress probably weakened his immune system.”

“You have to be more careful, honey,” Donna said, rubbing Gerard’s arm. Gerard whined and pulled away from her, going to stand on the other side of Frank who picked out some Vitamin C tablets, throat drops, and allergy tablets. “Anything else you need, honey?” Donna asked as they made their way to the checkout area. 

Gerard looked up, like he was thinking hard, then closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said, sounding exhausted. 

Donna looked disappointed that the shopping trip had come to a close, but didn’t say anything about it as they cashed out and left the store. She did pass a sideways glance at Frank as the eyeliner and lip gloss passed her on the conveyor belt, but otherwise she kept her opinion to herself.

She hugged Gerard goodbye after everything was put away in Frank’s apartment, and for once Gerard hugged her back in a way that looked genuine. As soon as she was gone, though, Gerard broke into his medications and passed out on the couch—too exhausted to even say much to Frank or help hang up his clothes.

Frank didn’t mind though. He had a lot to think about as he took Sweet Pea on her walk, and let his thoughts occupy him as he folded Gerard’s clothes and cut off all the tags. 

He thought about how well-behaved Gerard had been, and how good it was that he didn’t act up. It made it easier for Donna to get comfortable with Frank, and made it easier for her to bond with her son who had been gone so long.

They used to be close, she’d said during one of Gerard’s bathroom breaks at the mall. They used to be close when he was little, but pulled away when he started middle school. The other kids picked on him, she said, and she—being a young parents herself—didn’t know how to handle it. She’d been well-liked in school, Don had been a football player...they weren’t equipped to deal with bullies any more so than their son.

If she could go back, she confessed, she would’ve had every kid that gave her son a sideways glace expelled. She would raise hell and unleash it on the school board until they did something more for Gerard than send him to the counselor’s office. 

He wondered what it had to be like for her to get her son back after all these years—and in the condition he was in now.

Frank knew she was thankful her son was still alive, but it had to kill her to know what had been happening to him. _You don’t expect someone to do that to boys,_ she’d said. _You don’t expect someone to take a teenage boy for that sort of thing. I thought he was dead. This whole time, I thought he’d died… You don’t think a man would want anything to do with a fifteen-year-old boy. Not my boy, anyway._

Frank wished he knew what she meant by that last part. Not _her_ boy… Did she mean she never thought such a thing would happen to her, or did she think that because Gerard was so unpopular, deemed so unattractive to his peers, that she believed no one—not even the twisted creeps of society—would find a use for him? Frank feared it was the latter and it irritated him. If his own mother didn’t even find him appealing, it was no wonder Gerard had been out on the streets to begin with. 

Gerard had fallen asleep on the couch, so Frank laid alone in bed. It felt strange without him—even with Sweet Pea at his feet. He needed rest so he could be up early for his shift, but he missed Gerard’s anxiously tossing and turning form in the bed beside him.

Not that he could wake him up and bring him to bed now. Gerard needed sleep… 

But even so, Frank found himself slipping into the living room and sitting on the floor next to the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and listening to Gerard’s labored breaths. 

What happened when he was sick back with his Master? He doubted the man took care of him… Maybe he got him medicine from his doctor… Maybe he made the other slaves take care of him. 

Marcus, probably.

That was why Gerard liked Marcus so much—Marcus was the one who took care of his needs when their Master just used them to fulfill his own.

How could someone be so selfish and cruel? How could someone…

Frank shook his head. There was no sense to be made of it, and he’d drive himself mad if he just kept thinking. So he tipped his head back against the couch and let his eyes fall closed.

( ) ( ) ( )

It took a little over a week for Gerard’s fever to finally break and for him to start getting better. Frank was glad it they didn’t need a trip to the urgent care to resolve anything, even though Don and Donna offered to pay. Gerard was completely opposed to the idea of seeing any doctors and Frank didn’t feel up to pushing the issue when Gerard refused. Thankfully, he recovered on his own and was back to doing his unassigned chores and cooking meals for Frank whenever he had the time.

Gerard’s parents had given Frank enough money to buy a fair amount of groceries, making it easier for Gerard to prepare full meals instead of the simple dishes Frank had been giving him when he didn’t bring home food from the diner. 

Gerard really seemed to like cooking and had no time spending hours on a meal while he waited for Frank to come home. It was endearing, Frank thought. No one had really gone that far or put that much effort into impressing him before. 

Once he was feeling completely better, Frank invited Ray over for another night of video games, honestly having forgotten that the last time his friend and Gerard were together, it had ended in Ray yelling at Gerard and Gerard spending the next few days crying.

It all came back to him though when Ray arrived and Gerard immediately stood from the couch and made his way to the kitchenette. He stood by the refrigerator and didn’t move, didn’t speak. Ray said hi to him and Gerard just stared—wide eyed and frightened—like he thought Ray was going to attack him. 

Frank came over to him and asked if he wanted to sit down, but Gerard just looked away and pressed back against the wall. 

“You don’t need to be worried,” Frank said as gently as he could, rubbing Gerard’s arm. “He won’t hurt you—he’s not going to yell at you again.”

Gerard didn’t answer, just kept his neatly-lined eyes fixed on the floor. Frank had no choice but to give up on him and go play Xbox with Ray, hoping his boyfriend might find the courage to at least sit with them. 

After a while, he heard Gerard start moving around the kitchen and noticed he was making something to eat. That was a good sign at least, Frank thought before turning back to the game. At least he was eating—at least he wasn’t just standing there feeling out of place and left out. 

But then, a little while later, Gerard stepped into their line of view just long enough to set a plate of tofu-bacon wrapped jalapeno peppers on the coffee table. As soon as the plate was out of his hand, before Ray or Frank could even say thank you, Gerard had locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out.

“I feel bad,” Ray said, staring at the plate of food. “I shouldn’t have yelled at him like that last time. I was just… I was worried about you. I didn’t think it would hurt him this much.”

“I’m not sure why he’s acting like this,” Frank said, shaking his head. 

“Do you think I should try talking to him? Would that make it worse?” Ray asked. Frank could tell how genuinely guilty Ray felt for yelling at him before and it tore him up a bit to see both his friends so unhappy when neither of them needed to be. It was an accident. It was all a misunderstanding…

“Let me try again,” Frank said, getting up and going over to the bathroom door. He listened quietly, his ear to the door, and could hear Gerard crying softly on the other side. He felt so bad for him… Why did he think he needed to go through so much pain all alone? “Sweetheart?” Frank asked, tapping quietly on the door with his knuckle. “Is everything okay?”

Gerard didn’t answer, just like the last time, and Frank tested the doorknob. Still locked.

“Baby, you can’t lock yourself in there all night… I gotta pee. Will you let me in?”

Gerard just continued crying and sniffling, and Frank leaned his head against the door.

“Gee… Sweetheart, please… We can talk about this. I don’t want you upset. Can I please come in? Please, Sweetheart?” It took a few more moments of begging, then the door lock popped and Frank sighed in relief as he opened the door and went inside.

He closed the door behind him to give them some privacy, and sat down with his back to the door as Gerard sat pressed up against the bathtub, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his face buried in the space between his wrists. 

“Are you...worried Ray is going to yell at you again?” Frank asked, not really expecting an answer. “Please say something… Anything.”

“My arm hurts,” Gerard cried.

“Why does your arm hurt?” Frank scooted closer on the floor and reached out to touch Gerard’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, why does your arm hurt?” He repeated when Gerard didn’t speak. 

“Hurts...”

“Can I look?” Frank asked, offering a gentle smile while Gerard finally met his gaze. He’d cried so much that his eyeliner was a mess, and a smear was running from the corner of his eye almost to his ear on the left side. “Which arm hurts?”

Gerard slowly extended his left hand out toward Frank, his sleeve unrolled back to his elbow. 

For a moment, Frank was afraid he was going to see blood—afraid Gerard had locked himself in the bathroom and slit his wrist out of despair—but then he saw a dark red burn extended from the middle of his forearm back to his elbow.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Frank asked, gently touching the inflamed skin. There were blisters forming in the middle of the wound and Frank didn’t understand how he’d gotten burned so bad without making a noise. 

Frank had been in the same room as him and hadn’t heard a thing…

“Gerard, why didn’t you say you got hurt?” Frank asked, trying to meet his gaze again.

“Not… Not trying to...”

“Not trying to what?” Frank asked, moving his hand from Gerard’s arm to his cheek, stroking it gently. “What is it?”

“Not trying to get attention...it was… It was an accident. I slipped with the pan and it burnt me. Accident.”

“I know you wouldn’t do this on purpose,” Frank said, kissing the skin right next to the burn, wishing that could actually make it better. “I would never think that. Did you find the burn ointment?” Frank asked. Gerard shook his head no so Frank took it upon himself to rummage through the bathroom drawers and medicine cabinet until he found the little tube. He put it on Gerard’s burn for him and kissed his cheek after it was over. “Do you want to come sit with me and Ray for a while?” He asked as he used a damp washcloth to get the smeared eyeliner off his boyfriend’s face. Gerard looked hesitant, but then nodded and stood up from the floor. 

He kept his eyes on the ground as Frank led him back to the living area and sat next to him on the couch—between Gerard and Ray. 

“He burnt his arm,” Frank explained when he noticed Ray looking at them both in concern.

“Oh! Is it bad?” Ray asked, looking at Gerard who refused to speak.

“It’s okay,” Frank said, rubbing Gerard’s knee and kissing his cheek. “Right?”

Gerard nodded and sank into himself on the couch. Frank looked to Ray and shrugged, at a loss for what else to do to help. 

He and Ray resumed their video game, eating some of the wrapped peppers every now and then though Frank felt guilty enjoying them knowing Gerard had gotten himself hurt to make them.

After a couple more hours, Ray left—saying an awkward goodbye to Gerard who hid behind Frank—and as soon as he was gone, Gerard’s entire demeanor shifted.

He set to cleaning up the living area, then washed the plate that the peppers had been on before going back into the bathroom to wash his face and get ready for bed. He put on his skeleton pajama suit, then wrapped his arms around Frank who was sitting the couch watching television.

“Is your arm feeling okay?” Frank asked, smiling when Gerard kissed him on the cheek. He was glad Gerard wasn’t trying to steal kisses from him or get his affection in front of Ray anymore, but it would be a lie to say he didn’t miss it when Gerard held back. 

“Yeah.”

“How did you do that again?”

“Pan slipped when I was taking it out of the oven. The oven mitt… I wasn’t holding it right and it started to burn my hand.”

“You could’ve said something, you know? You didn’t have to hide it.”

“Ray doesn’t like me very much,” Gerard said, burying his face in Frank’s neck.

“He was just mad that day. He doesn’t hate you for anything. You’re my partner now. If he’s got a problem with you, he’s got a problem with me. Alright? And I won’t let him hurt your feelings again. So you don’t have to worry when he’s over or hide from him.”

“Frank?” Gerard asked, moving his lips against Frank’s neck as he spoke.

“Hm?”

“If he said to get rid of me, what would you do?”

“Tell him he’s out of his fucking mind. I’m not ‘getting rid of you.’ Not if he asks me to or anyone. The only person that’s going to end us… Er—The only person who...who _can_ end us is you. If you tell me you want to leave me or that you’ve found somebody else. It’s...It’s up to you.”

“What about when you find someone else?”

“When _I_ find someone else? I’m not the one who’s good-looking here. That’s you. No one else is gonna want me,” Frank said, feeling Gerard smile against his throat.

“Frank?”

“Hm?”

“If… If I wanted to leave you, would you really let me go?”

“Yeah,” Frank said, taken aback by the question. “I mean, I don’t _want_ you to go, but I want you to be happy. And if I’m not what makes you happy anymore, then I don’t want you to be stuck with me.”

“Even if I was leaving for a bad reason, you’d let me go?”

“Baby, you don’t have to give a reason to leave someone. If you’re not happy...you can go.” Frank hardly found his words romantic, and they honestly broke his heart a bit to say them because he didn’t know what Gerard was getting at, but the other man kissed him on the mouth as soon as he was done speaking. “What’s up with you tonight?” Frank asked as Gerard continued to kiss his neck, starting to suckle on it a little.

“I don’t like seeing you with him,” Gerard said softly. 

“With who? Ray?—He’s my best friend. That’s it—we’re just friends.”

“I don’t like it,” Gerard said, suddenly swinging his legs over Frank’s hips to sit in his lap. He looked so innocent dressed in the tacky skeleton pajamas, but his eyes looked twisted. It was a look Frank didn’t think he’d ever really seen in them before. A malicious, almost cruel gleam. It scared him. 

“He’s my friend, Gerard,” Frank said sternly—and then regretted his tone instantly. 

Gerard glared at him, his playfulness and innocence gone in a second. Jealous. He was jealous.

His Master hadn’t been kidding when he said Gerard got jealous easily—that he’d push around other people who got in the way of his Master’s attention. 

“Do not look at me like that,” Frank said, trying to sound firm but his voice shaking slightly. 

Why did it have to be this way? Why did Gerard have to be so loving and gentle one moment and the next turn into a monster Frank barely recognized? 

“I don’t like it,” Gerard said, putting on a fake pout though his eyes remained vicious. Frank wanted him off his lap more than anything, but he was afraid to try to move away. 

“Gerard, I have friends other than you. It doesn’t make me love you any less.”

“I have you, and that’s it,” Gerard said bitterly. 

“You have Mikey and your mom and dad,” Frank offered. 

“They don’t want me like he wants you!” 

“He doesn’t _want_ me at all! He’s not gay! We don’t like each other like that. Why are you acting like this?”

He did burn himself on purpose, Frank realized. He burnt himself because he knew Frank would worry and would come to him and pity him. It was just like before… He wanted all of Frank’s attention on him and none of it on Ray, but he was too afraid of Ray to be close to him long enough to try to put a wedge between them physically this time. 

“I just don’t want things to change,” Gerard said, the hostility trickling out of his eyes a little. 

“You keep saying that, but I don’t understand. What’s going to change? What are you scared of?” Frank dared to lean up for a kiss when Gerard didn’t answer, and it surprised him when Gerard twisted his face away. He had never once avoided a kiss from Frank before. Not one single time… “What are you afraid of changing?”

“You...”

“Me? I’m not changing. I love you more and more every day and I...I get excited to come home and see you. Why are you afraid _I’m_ going to change?”

“Because you’ll get bored of me and buy someone else,” Gerard said, closing his eyes and looking like he was going to start crying again. “Frank, I _love_ you!”

Helplessness to violence, violence to affection, affection to helplessness in an endless cycle… 

“I love you, too, Sweetheart. I’m not going to leave you—stop it. I’m not going to replace you with Ray or anyone, but you can’t act like this. It’s not okay. It’s not fair to me. It _hurts_ me when you act like this. You’re—You’re accusing me of cheating and that’s not fair. That’s hurtful.”

“How do you think I feel watching you ignore me for him!?”

“Gerard, you wouldn’t come in the room! You wouldn’t spend time with me. Stop it… I’m not your Master. You can’t hold me accountable for the things he did. He was messed up, okay? He wanted five people to worship him and live at his beck and call. I’m not like that. I want one person. You. Just you. So please quit acting like I’m going to cheat or replace you. It’s mean...and look what you’ve done to yourself. Look at your arm.”

Gerard slumped forward, his head on Frank’s shoulder, and said nothing else. Frank didn’t know whether to let it go or continue with the lecture. He didn’t know what to do when Gerard acted like this—he never really knew if Gerard was being honest or if he was lying to make himself look less...dangerous. 

Gaslighting. That’s what it was. Making Frank feel crazy for thinking he was up to something malicious. 

“You would never want to hurt me, right, Gerard?” Frank asked, gently wrapping his arms around Gerard’s shoulders and holding him. 

“Never,” Gerard said before kissing Frank’s cheek. 

“Good. Because if you hurt me...if you start hitting me or trying to keep me away from my friends, then I won’t...let you stay here. I won’t see you anymore. If you start to hurt me, I’ll have to leave because no one deserves to be treated like that. Do you understand?” 

Gerard stiffened and Frank could tell the other man understood perfectly well what he was saying. 

“Do you underst—”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Then that’s the end of it,” Frank said, giving Gerard one last embrace before forcing the other man to stand up. “I’m going to bed.”

Gerard followed after him obediently, pulling up the hood on his skeleton pajamas as he crawled into bed beside Frank.


	24. No Quick Recovery

Frank was at work when he got the call from Mikey. He missed the first one, but Mikey called him repeatedly until Frank finally picked up. 

“Hey, um… A-Are you at work?” Mikey stumbled over his words, his shaky tone immediately setting Frank on edge.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Frank asked.

“Um… Shit, uh… I-I don’t…”

“Is everything okay?” Frank asked, his stomach tightening. “Is Gerard alright?”

“I-I guess. Probably—Um… Our… Our grandma died this morning. She—She died. I-I need...I need to tell Gerard. I mean… Can you be there? When I tell him… He’s...he’s not going to take it well. Fuck, I don’t know what to say.”

Frank felt his heart drop and sank down to his knees behind. The line cook stopped working on the dish in front of him and asked what was wrong, but Frank could barely hear him.

“I… I’m off at four today. I-I hate to ask, but...can you wait til I get home? I’ve missed so much work—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can...we can do that. Probably should… I’m not—Mom’s not...It’s bad. It’s so fucking bad.”

“I’m sorry, Mikey. I-If you need anything...” What could he offer, Frank thought. What could he honestly offer?

“You said four right?”

“Yeah...”

“I’ll...I’ll come by maybe around five,” Mikey said, his voice shaking as if he were about to cry.

“Do you...want me to tell him?”

“No. He should hear it from me…”

“I just...if he takes it bad, I’d rather he lash out at me,” Frank said softly. 

“No… I’ll tell him. Mom wants me to bring him home. She wants you to give him back.”

“Mikey… I’m not keeping him against his will. He wants to stay with me. If...If he says he wants to go home, then I’ll let him, but…”

“I know he likes you, but his place is with us. We’re his family. We need him now, not you.”

This was going to end badly. Frank knew it. He could feel it like a knife to his throat.

Gerard was unpredictable. He was dangerous and unstable and too easy to tip over the edge—and this was going to destroy him. If Mikey came and tried to drag him back home when he didn’t want to go, Gerard could snap. He could seriously hurt someone, or himself…

But what could Frank really do to stop it? 

But shouldn’t _Gerard_ get the final say? It was _his_ life…

“We’ll talk about it with Gerard, okay? At five?” Frank said, making sure to keep his tone gentle.

“Just...let me tell him. I need to be the one to tell him.”

“I know,” Frank said. 

They ended the call but Frank remained kneeling on the floor, not quite able to call on his legs to stand. This was going to _devastate_ Gerard… He’d only seen Gerard interact with the woman once, but it was so clear how much he loved her. He lit up when he talked about her… Frank didn’t want to see him go through this.

He didn’t want to see Gerard turn into a monster to mask his pain.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard felt like he’d been punched. He felt like he was going to throw up. He couldn’t breathe…

“Did… Did you hear me?” Mikey asked.

He tried to put his hand on Gerard’s shoulder, but Gerard jerked away. He didn’t want touched. He didn’t want anyone near him. 

“Sweetheart?” Frank whispered, placing his hand on Gerard’s knee.

Gerard whined and pulled away, standing up from the couch and crossing the room to stand by the kitchen counter, wrapping his arms around his chest. 

He wanted to scream. He wanted to kick something. He couldn’t _fucking_ breathe.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening to him. No. No, no, no…

He could hear Frank and Mikey talking about him, but couldn’t understand what they said—it was as if they were muttering in a foreign language, and though he struggled to interpret it, not a single word broke through. 

Frank had come home in such a grim mood and Gerard had tried to comfort him, even kissing him and trying to get on his knees for him. Frank turned him down and now Gerard knew why… Because his grandmother had died and Frank knew and wouldn’t say until Mikey came.

Frank knew and didn’t tell him… That hurt.

“Gerard, Mom… Mom wants you to come home tonight,” Mikey said, at Gerard’s side again—touching him.

Stop… Stop touching him. 

That was all Gerard could think. He wanted left alone. He didn’t want touched—he didn’t want to go anywhere. Why were they pulling on him? Why was Frank touching him? Why was everybody standing so close?

He thought he screamed at them to get away, but no one flinched—no one moved. 

In his head, he could hear himself shouting, but no one listened to him. No one cared that they were hurting him. 

Frank’s hand was on his back, Mikey’s was on his arm. 

Mikey was telling him to come home; Frank was saying it was the right thing to do.

Why was Frank abandoning him? He was hurting—he was hurting! Why was Frank throwing him out?! He promised he’d never do that! He promised!

“You’re a liar!” Gerard screamed, shoving the first person he could reach as hard as he could. Once they backed off, he lashed out in the other direction—his fist cracking into someone’s something—and then finally, _finally_ they stayed back. They gave him room to catch his breath.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he reopened them he realized there was a spatter of blood on the counter...and his hand hurt horribly.

Mikey was on the ground at his feet, staring at him with horror and pain…

Frank was…

Gerard felt his stomach lurch. 

Frank was on the floor bleeding, holding a hand over his mouth and nose. Blood ran between his fingers and dripped on the carpet. 

Blood…

Gerard had drawn blood from him.

He tried to speak, but all that would come out were shaky, fractured gasps. 

He’d hit his Master. 

He’d pushed his little brother and punched his Master in the mouth.

Gerard tried again to make words come out, but all he managed was a strangled croak before his stomach lurched again and scrambled for the sink, vomiting into it until he could no longer stand. 

He’d pushed Mikey… He’d hurt him. He never meant to hurt anyone. Why was this happening? Why was Frank bleeding?

Why couldn’t they have just left him alone!?

Gerard couldn’t breathe again and when he tried, all that came out were sobs—heavy, raspy sobs that ripped at his chest until it became so tight he didn’t think his heart had the room it needed to keep beating. He stared at Frank who still hadn’t moved, more and more horror overwhelming him as the trickle of blood continued to make a stain on the carpet. 

His heart didn’t have enough room to beat…

Why did they have to do this? Why couldn’t they have left him alone? Why did they make him do this? He never meant to hurt anyone!

He never… 

He _never..._

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank forced himself to stand up after Gerard had collapsed next to him, his hand still over his mouth. Gerard’s punch had split his bottom lip, causing a burst of blood to rush into his mouth and flow down his chin. He knew it was going to happen—he just _knew_ it was going to end like this—and he cursed himself for ignoring his instincts and letting himself believe he could somehow help the other man.

Mikey was still sitting on the floor, crying now though not nearly as much as Gerard had been, and only stopped staring at Gerard when Frank offered him a hand.

“What did I do?” He asked, sounding so helpless and broken that Frank found himself pitying the other man. “What happened to him?” Mikey asked.

Gerard lay motionless on the floor, his back to the kitchen counter and his face buried in the carpet. 

“He fainted. He’ll be okay,” Frank said, pulling Mikey onto is feet and then turning on the faucet to rinse Gerard’s vomit out of the sink before washing his face and hands. 

“Does he… Does he always? Is that normal?” He asked, shock consuming his entire face as he stood by the counter and stared down at his older brother. Frank could tell he wanted to touch him again, wanted to try shaking him awake, but was too afraid to do it. Frank didn’t blame him. He didn’t particularly want to get in Gerard’s personal space again either.

“I think so. He’s never done it to me before,” he said as he wadded up a paper towel and held it to his face. “It’s something his...Master told me. If he gets scared, he faints. If he gets anxious, he faints. He’ll come around.”

Mikey dared to kneel at his brother’s side again and reached out to shake his shoulder, flinching when Gerard groaned and started moving. 

Frank stepped over to them and came to sit a few paces away from Gerard’s head, still holding the bloodied paper towel to his lip as he watched Gerard twitch awake.

“Gerard? Are you okay?” Mikey asked, scooting back a bit as Gerard opened his eyes and pulled himself up onto his hands and knees.

The man looked so out of it, all of the hostility and panic gone from his eyes as blinked awake. 

“Frankie?” He said, looking at Mikey first and then Frank. His eyes went wide as soon as he saw what he’d done, maybe realizing for the first time how big of a mistake he’d made when Frank didn’t answer him. “No… No—No, what did I do? Wh-What did I do?” He looked at Frank as he asked it, then turned to Mikey.

“Nothing—you fainted. It’s okay,” Mikey said.

“I-I hurt you,” Gerard stammered, pulling away when Mikey tried to touch him again—starting the cycle all over. 

“No… I’m fine. It’s fine. Are you okay?”

“I… I don’t know what happened. I-I didn’t mean… Oh, no...” Gerard started sobbing again covering his face with his hands as he pressed back into the cabinet. “I’m sorry. Please don’t… Please don’t—I’m sorry,” he cried to no one in particular. 

Seeing him like that, it made Frank let go of the bad feeling he’d started to feel brewing and he scooted closer to Gerard on the floor. It was his own fault for crowding him. He knew not to get in the line of fire when Gerard began to get enraged. He was like a cornered animal and lashing out was the only thing he knew how to do.

“I didn’t mean to do this. I-I don’t know what happened. I’m sorry,” Gerard cried, still covering his face. “I don’t want you to do this anymore.”

“Do what anymore?” Mikey asked, sitting in front of Gerard down and rubbing his hand up and down his older brother’s arm. “Do what, Gerard?”

Gerard squirmed and Mikey quit touching him, taking the hint to back off this time instead of crowding him. 

They sat there for almost fifteen minutes, not moving any closer or saying anything as Gerard cried it out—slowly coming to his senses more and more until he was almost able to to interact with them again.

“Gerard… Do you want to stay at your parents’ place tonight with them?” Frank asked when Gerard started staring at him. 

“No, Frank,” Gerard whispered.

“Mom really wants to see you today,” Mikey pleaded. 

“I can’t,” Gerard said, squeezing his eyes closed. “I-I can’t. I can’t move.”

“You’re alright,” Frank said, forcing himself to stand up and then pulling Gerard up as well by his arm. He made Gerard rinse his mouth at the sink and gave him a glass of water before guiding him to the couch and making him sit. 

The fight seemed to have left him, but Frank made sure there was a fair amount of space between them on the cushions, and Mikey took the initiative to stand across from Gerard and lean against the wall. 

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Gerard said, looking at Mikey.

Frank guessed it was a good thing Gerard was horrified at having shoved his younger brother, but couldn’t help but wish Gerard would acknowledge more the fact that he’d busted Frank’s lip open while Mikey was no worse for wear.

The two brothers began talking, Gerard calmed down enough to at least discuss what had happened to his grandmother instead of snapping the moment he heard it said that she had died. He was crying still and seemed devastated by the news, even though Mikey assured him she hadn’t felt any pain—that she’d passed on in her sleep after breakfast that morning. 

While they talked, Frank nursed his split lip and watched them—thinking mostly about Gerard, and what to do with him.

He told Gerard not that long ago that if he ever hit him, if he ever hurt him, they were over. 

He couldn’t let himself stay in a situation like that with a loose cannon, but now he wasn’t so sure. He didn’t want to send Gerard away over this. It was his own fault for getting so close to him when he was breaking down…

But was that just adding fuel to the fire?—Giving him excuses for when he struck people out of pain and rage? Frank knew what Gerard had been through and knew he had years worth of healing to do, but could he really justify Gerard raising a fist to him?

He pushed Mikey, but he’d _punched_ Frank. 

He’d put his fist through the wall at his parents’ house, and had already struck his father before then.

He was violent.

Frank hated to admit it to himself that the sad, desperate creature he’d pulled out of the gutter was nothing short of vicious. He didn’t care who he hurt. He didn’t care if he drew blood or broke bones. It didn’t matter to him because as far as he was concerned, Frank wasn’t ever going to punish him so why hold back? Frank wasn’t going to lock him in a basement and stick him with needles and starve him for days on end. Frank wasn’t going to rape him or let other men hurt him. Why did he have to give Frank any consideration or respect at all if he didn’t have to?

For the first time, Frank really had to admit to himself that he had no idea who he was living with. 

“Frank?” Gerard spoke his name so softly, yet it pulled Frank from his darkest thoughts. 

“What do you want?” Frank asked, refusing to be gentle with him. He couldn’t be. If he really wanted to keep the sick, toxic thing they had going, he was going to need to fix it. Gerard needed a firm hand, not unlike a vicious dog needing rehabilitated. He’d never strike him or scream at him, but he could be cold. 

Frank wasn’t a Master, but with the taste of blood fresh on his tongue, he was prepared to act like one.

“I didn’t mean to hit you… I-I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it,” Frank said in the sternest voice he could muster. 

At first he thought Gerard was about to start pouting, putting on his innocent air that he always pulled when he got himself into trouble, but then Frank saw every bit of life fade out of the other man’s eyes until he was gone—completely gone. 

“S-Sorry can’t… I-I…not—not enough. Not...enough.” He was struggling to breathe as much as he was struggling to speak, and his shoulders started jerking as if he was about to go into convulsions.

“Gerard?” Frank said, not even thinking as he reached forward to put a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

Gerard screamed as if he Frank had burnt him and scrambled away, falling over off the side of the couch and covering his head with his arms once he hit the floor. 

Frank was left staring at him helplessly, wondering what the hell he’d said wrong. He looked to Mikey, about to start begging for forgiveness so the other man didn’t kill him, but Mikey’s eyes were fixed on his older brother. 

Gerard was still trying to form words, still trying to apologize or explain—Frank couldn’t tell which. Neither of them could get near him or touch him. He’d just shout or cry or curl in on himself tighter. He had his fingers tangled in his hair and was yanking on it, breaking off strands and twisting them around his fingers as he tightened his grip more and more.

Frank didn’t know how to stop it and Mikey was too afraid of Gerard’s screams to touch him. 

“Should we—Do we call somebody?” Mikey asked, looking to Frank for answers. As it was, Frank was the person who knew Gerard best and he didn’t have a damned clue what he did or how to fix it.

“I-I don’t know. He’s… He’s never acted like this.” 

Except that wasn’t true, was it? He’d acted like this when he’d been on the stage being sold—only he was too afraid of his Master to collapse so completely. 

“What do we do?” Mikey asked. “Gerard? Please stop. Everything’s fine. Everything’s okay! You—You don’t have to be scared… I won’t make you come home with me. You can stay here. I’ll tell Mom you’re not ready, alright? It’ll be fine.” He tried to rub Gerard’s back, but Gerard yelled and started yanking his hair even harder.

He wasn’t going to stop on his own. He wasn’t panicking enough to faint and he wasn’t lucid enough to hear them plead with him. 

Frank let out a heavy sigh and moved to take Mikey’s place on the floor in front of Gerard. He tossed aside his bloodied paper towel and took a deep breath before grabbing both of Gerard’s wrists at once and pulling both of his hands out of his hair at once—despite the feral scream his partner let out. 

“Stop,” Frank said, as firmly as he could. “Stop it. Now.” He had to be firm with him. He had to be like a Master. Gerard would know not to act this way in front of one of them. There was no way a dignified man like Les would’ve let Gerard behave this way in his presence. Frank had to be like him and put a stop to it before Gerard hurt himself...or them. “Quit shouting. _Now.”_

It worked a little bit. Gerard’s screams died away into loud moans instead. 

Frank, using Gerard’s wrists as leverage, forced the other man to sit up and held him still until his breathing began to even out and he quit muttering to himself. His pupils were blown wide and there was still no sign of any consciousness or understanding in his eyes, but his body began to relax a bit as Frank coaxed him into leaning back against the couch. 

“You need to stop it now,” Frank said, letting his tone stay level—not affectionate, not pitying, just calm. “Are you going to stop?”

“Y-yes,” Gerard stammered, blinking slowly and swallowing hard.

“If I let go of your hands, are you going to hit me?”

“No—No, Master. Never, Master. I’m sorry, Master!”

“What did you do to him!?” Mikey shouted. 

“Be quiet,” Frank snapped, looking over his shoulder at Mikey and sending him the cruelest glare he could muster. If he got too close and set Gerard off again, they’d never get him back.

“I-I didn’t mean to, Master. I never meant to hurt you, Master. I don’t want to be bad—I don’t want to be bad. Please don’t put me in the basement. I don’t want to go down there! I’ll be quiet! I’ll be quiet, I promise!”

“Gerard, stop it,” Frank said, squeezing his wrists hard. 

Gerard winced and quit speaking instantly. He wasn’t looking at Frank, he was staring at the floor—not really with them, but not completely gone.

“Sweetheart, I need you to close your eyes and just breathe, okay? Can you do that for me? Shut your eyes...”

Gerard obeyed. He immediately obeyed.

“Now breathe in...and let it out. Okay? Again… In. And out.” 

Slowly, little by little, Gerard calmed until he was perfectly still—not even shivering or twitching his fingers in Frank’s grip.

“Open your eyes.”

Again, immediate obedience. 

“What do you see?” Frank asked, letting his fingers gently massage Gerard’s wrists—his grip becoming lighter and lighter as Gerard’s eyes focused on his face.

“Frank,” he said. Not Master.

Thank God.

“That’s right. Where are you?”

“F-Frank’s apartment—my...my home.”

Frank smiled at him and saw a little spark go through Gerard’s eyes. He was coming back.

“That’s right,” he said, letting go of one of Gerard’s wrists in order to stroke his cheek. Gerard leaned into the touch and let out a heavy sigh, his eyes falling closed. 

“I had...a bad dream,” he said. 

“A bad dream?” Mikey chimed in.

“Master was here… Trainer...was here.”

“They’re not here. They’ll never hurt you again. I promise,” Frank said. He let go of Gerard’s other hand gently, letting it come to rest in Gerard’s lap. “It’s just me and Mikey. And we’d never hurt you.”

Gerard opened his eyes again and looked at Frank sadly. He lifted a hand and ghosted his fingertips across Frank’s gashed lip, cringing as if it hurt him when he touched it. 

“It’s okay,” Frank said, unable to ignore how _genuine_ Gerard’s look of remorse was.

“I hurt you.”

“I’m pretty tough, Gerard. It’ll take more than that to break me.”

“I hurt you,” Gerard repeated, swallowing hard as a fresh swell of tears fell from his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

That word seemed like a trigger to him, because as soon as he spoke it, he started breathing heavier.

“I forgive you,” Frank said, as quickly as he could. “I forgive you, Sweetheart. It’s forgotten. It’s okay. I’m not mad. I love you.”

“Love you,” Gerard whimpered, tensing as Mikey came over to them. 

Frank wanted to bark at him to go away, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He just prayed Gerard wouldn’t snap again. 

“Gerard?” Mikey asked, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Gerard looked at him almost calmly and nodded.

“I-I… I don’t feel well,” he said.

“Why don’t you lay down in the bedroom, okay? Do you need me to help you?”

Gerard nodded weakly and allowed Frank to pull him up from the ground. He kept an arm around Gerard’s shoulders and guided him to the bedroom, tucking him into bed and stroking the hair out of his face once he settled down.

“Sweetheart?”

Gerard opened his eyes and again and looked up at him, tired and bleary.

“I’m really sorry about your grandma… If there’s anything I can do, just tell me, okay? I want to be here for you. I’ll help you get through this.”

Gerard said nothing, just closed his eyes and shifted further under the blankets. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank felt helpless. Nothing he did, nothing he said, made any difference to Gerard. He stayed in bed, barely drank enough water to stay alive—didn’t eat. For weeks.

He wouldn’t go to the funeral, no matter how much his mother and father begged him. 

Frank had expected him to lash out when they tried to force him to go. He almost hoped Gerard would lash out, just for a reprieve from the silence. But nothing happened. Gerard merely covered his head with one arm, covered his eyes with his free hand, and pretended they weren’t there speaking to him. They could touch him, they could pull on his hands, they could raise their voices—it made no difference. Gerard acted as if he couldn’t feel it.

Frank hoped it wouldn’t go on as long as it did, but after the second week he started to fear that this state of being was permanent for Gerard. He’d broken down and Frank couldn’t get the time off work he needed to even try fixing him. Mikey now had a key to Frank’s apartment, but even his frequent, brief visits weren’t enough. Nothing got through to him. Nothing worked…

Frank couldn’t even get Gerard to accept a kiss from him.

Frank would come home from work and force Gerard to drink a cup or two of water, then lay next to him and watch his partner sleep. All he did was sleep. He didn’t even cry anymore, just slept so he didn’t have to feel the things he was feeling.

He just didn’t know what to do…

Mikey started hanging out with them more—hanging out with Frank more, really, since Gerard wouldn’t leave the bed—and his hostility and mistrust for Frank finally started to chip away. Frank got to learn more about Mikey’s side of things, his and Gerard’s childhood, and what it was like for him to have his brother go missing.

His parents wouldn’t let him go out at all for a long time after Gerard disappeared. Any friendships he had were broken at that point and it wasn’t until he’d enrolled in college that he finally got out from under his parents’ thumb and started to rebel. He got mixed up in a lot of shit he shouldn’t have, he said—mixed up with a lot people he shouldn’t have. Since Gerard came back, he swore he’d cut down on the hard stuff and stuck mostly to weed and liquor. He tried to justify it, but Frank just shook his head. Who was he to judge? Who was he to say what Mikey should or shouldn’t do? As long as he kept it away from Gerard, he didn’t care.

Mikey became such a frequent visitor to the apartment that Frank felt it a good idea to introduce him to Ray, inviting him to play Xbox with them. Ray bought the pizza, Mikey brought the beer, and Frank—in a desperate attempt to get Gerard to join them—bought three different kinds of wine to tempt his partner with. 

It said in the paperwork that Gerard’s Master had given him that wine was a turn on—maybe it would be enough to cheer him up.

But it wasn’t. 

Frank offered him some, Gerard stared at him. Frank poured him a glass and left it on the nightstand only to come back and find it completely full two hours later. It was clear then that Gerard had no intention of joining them or trying. He was wasting away and Frank felt so...devastated. 

“I’m going to have to take him to the hospital if he keep this up,” Frank said, drinking the glass of wine Gerard didn’t touch. 

“Mom said that too,” Mikey said.

“They can at least keep him breathing. I’m afraid I’m going to come home and he’ll have…starved to death or something.”

“He used to self-harm when we were kids… I keep checking his wrists and stuff. I’m worried about him.”

“Maybe he...needs something else,” Ray suddenly chimed in. “I know he won’t get out of the house—”

“He doesn’t get out of _bed,_ Ray,” Frank insisted. 

“I know. Maybe he needs something to do to...to bring him back. I know he draws, but is there something else?”

“He used to be really into comic books. He’s got hundreds of them in his bedroom,” Mikey said.

“Okay… So maybe we could get them and bring them there. He could read and maybe get out of his head a little.”

Frank doubted it would work, but he and Mikey shared a glance and Mikey started nodding.

“I’ll bring some by tomorrow… I’ll bring some of his old stuff. Maybe he just needs some of own things instead of just yours,” he said, looking at Frank.

So they agreed to spend the next evening getting Gerard’s things, and then returned to drinking and playing Xbox. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey kept a close eye on Frank after he let him into their house. Both of his parents were at work, giving them time to grab the comic books and some of Gerard’s other things. Frank stopped at the mantel, staring with a dorky grin on his face at the photos of Gerard and Mikey as kids which sat there. 

“He was so cute a baby,” Frank said, giggling a little before Mikey tore him away from the photos to take him down to Gerard’s room. “He really lived in the basement, huh?”

“I told you before, he didn’t mind. He liked it because Dad couldn’t hear him sneaking out.”

Their mother had put new bed sheets and pillows on Gerard’s old bed, hoping he’d eventually move back home or stay long enough to sleep in his own bedroom, but everything else remained untouched. His mom was going to kill him when she saw they took away the comic books.

“Are these his old drawing pads?” Frank asked, gravitating to one of Gerard’s dressers and then stack of papers on it. 

“Probably. I...I don’t come down here much.” Mikey started packing up comics into the boxes they’d brought with them while Frank started flipping through Gerard’s old books. 

“Some of this stuff is really dark,” Frank said, his brow furrowed. 

“Yeah, well, he had it rough at school. He wasn’t exactly sunshine and butterflies. It’s not surprising that he tries to beat us up now when we crowd him.”

Frank went from one sketch pad to the next, then moved from one dresser to Gerard’s desk to dig through those papers as well.

“Are you gonna help me or not?” Mikey asked when Frank dropped one of the books he was holding and backed away from the desk like he’d seen something gross crawl out between the pages.

“Yeah...” Frank said, looking disheartened as he sat down next to Mikey and started packing up the comic books. “Do you think… Do you really think he might hurt himself again?” 

“I don’t know. I hope not, but…it’s not looking too good right now. When was the last time he even ate anything?”

“I don’t know. I think he gets up sometimes when I’m at work. I bring him home meals every day and put them in the fridge. Sometimes they’re half eaten when it comes time to throw it out.” 

“I really hope this works,” Mikey said, getting distracted by one of the issues and starting to flip through it. He remembered Gerard begging him to read this copy with him once, but he couldn’t remember if he did or not. 

“Me too… I really don’t want him put in a hospital. He hates doctors.”

“It’s up to him at this point. I mean, we’ve done all we can. If he won’t put forth any effort, then there’s not much else we can do. He’s not even trying anymore. I know he loved our grandma and they were really close, but… I feel like that’s not even what this is about. He’s shut down...” 

“Maybe he’s starting to realize what’s happened,” Frank said. “I know when I first took him in, he was really skittish and he wasn’t really _there._ For a while, he was coming around more and more. It was like I was meeting him _for real_ for the first time. I think the more aware he is, the more he realizes what he’s been through, the more...the more it hits him. If you think about it, he was...he was raped for almost ten years and never allowed to really cope with it. That was how he lived. That was what was normal. Now he’s out and… He’s not in that world and he know none of us have any idea what he’s been through. He’s isolated and...maybe he doesn’t even think we can help him.”

He was right. Mikey felt sure that Frank was right. 

“When he got mad last time he was here, when he flipped the coffee table and screamed at our dad, he said something to me. He said that something was in him that made him do these things. He said it got too loud for him sometimes.”

“It’s just trauma. He doesn’t know what to do with his emotions now that he’s actually allowed to have them. He gets mad and he does the first thing that pops into his head.”

They talked quietly for a little bit longer before they finished boxing up the comics. Frank had dipped into Gerard’s clothes for a minute or two and came out with a sweater he asked if he could have. It was a weird request, but Mikey couldn’t find a reason to say no. Why Frank would want one of Gerard’s plain hoodies was beyond him, and he wasn’t about to ask. 

They grabbed some of his old CDs and a portable CD player with headphones along with a couple of posters and a few action figures Frank thought might cheer Gerard up. 

Gerard was still in bed sleeping when they brought everything up to the apartment, and he didn’t stir when Mikey tried to shake him awake by his shoulder. He didn’t know why Gerard was doing this. Why was he starving himself and wasting away when so many people loved him?—Even if their grandmother was gone. 

“I hope you start feeling better,” Mikey whispered, stroking his brother’s hair a moment or two before leaving.

( ) ( ) ( )

As soon as Mikey was gone, Frank went back into the bedroom and turned on the light. Gerard whined a little, though Frank couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep, and shifted until his arm blocked the light from his eyes.

“Sweetheart? Gerard, you need to wake up now,” Frank said, sitting down next to Gerard and shaking his shoulder. 

Gerard let out a soft moan and might’ve mumbled that he was tired, but Frank couldn’t understand him. 

Frank couldn’t let him do this anymore. His stomach had been in knots since he found two bloodied razor blades hidden in the pages of one of Geard’s old sketchbooks. He didn’t tell Mikey about them and had hoped their presence would be less prevalent in his memory as their packing went on, but he couldn’t forget them. He just imagined Gerard, this scared, young teenager, hurting himself all alone in his bedroom. 

There was literally nothing keeping him from going back and doing it again now, Frank had realized. There was nothing to stop him and Frank was terrified he’d come home to find blood or marks on his arms—or his lifeless body tucked into their bed.

“Gerard, wake up,” Frank said, firmly this time. 

Gerard whined and opened his eyes a little, staring vacantly at Frank.

Frank leaned down to kiss him, only to have Gerard turn his face away at the last second. Frank kissed his cheek instead, then worked his mouth over until he could kiss the corner of Gerard’s tightly closed mouth.

“Sweetheart? Sweetheart, you can’t do this anymore.”

“I’m tired,” Gerard whispered. 

“I know… It’s because you won’t eat anything. You’re wasting away, Sweetheart. I’m worried about you.”

“No one’s worried about me,” Gerard said, staring up at Frank and then reaching up slowly to put his finger on Frank’s bottom lip where a faint line still remained from where Gerard had split his lip.

“I told you I forgave you for that,” Frank said, grabbing Gerard’s hand and kissing his fingers before he could pull away.

“You said you’d leave me if I ever hit you...”

“You didn’t mean to hurt me. I meant… I meant if you became abusive to me. If you started hitting me because I made you mad or because I said something you didn’t like. I know we pushed you too far that day. I know you were scared and hurt. It’s alright.”

“Not alright,” Gerard said, closing his eyes again. 

It was as far as their conversations ever got. Gerard refused to accept the forgiveness Frank offered him, then went back to sleep.

“Baby… Please, don’t do this anymore. I’m worried. You’re scaring me.”

Frank tried to kiss him again and Gerard resisted, turning away and whining as if Frank had hurt him. 

Frank didn’t know what made him do it, but he found himself lunging forward—forcing his mouth against Gerard’s and kissing him hard. Gerard squealed and started squirming, pushing at Frank’s shoulders while Frank forced his tongue into his mouth. Frank held him still, grabbing his wrist when Gerard tried pushing him away, and kissing him deeper until Gerard quitting fighting and kissed back. 

One moment Gerard was pushing against him, then the next he was sobbing and clutching at Frank’s back desperately. When Frank broke the kiss, Gerard began peppering his neck with small kisses of his own—whimpering the whole time. Frank pulled him up against his chest, holding him just as tight, so grateful to have him in his arms again—even if he was crying.

“I love you, Gerard. Do you believe that?” Frank asked, his lips caressing the other man’s ear as he spoke. “Do you believe me?” He rubbed his hands up and down Gerard’s back until the other man started suckling and kissing his neck.

“Yes, I know,” Gerard whimpered, nuzzling Frank’s throat while digging his fingers into Frank’s shoulders. 

Frank moved to kiss him again, forcing it when Gerard still tried to resist him. It was wrong, and it was bad and he knew it, but he couldn’t take it anymore. He was so afraid Gerard was going to get hurt, and all he could think to do was show him how much he loved him. 

Gerard was sobbing as he reciprocated the kiss, their tongues moving together until a sob or a choke would break them apart. 

“P-Please don’t,” Gerard gasped after a few more moments of kissing. “Please don’t make me. I don’t want to today. I-I can’t today. I d-don’t—I don’t want to,” he stammered, burying his face in Frank’s neck.

It was then that Frank realized just how hard Gerard’s body was shaking, his thighs trembling against Frank’s hips, his fingers clenching and unclenching on Frank’s back.

“I won’t,” Frank whispered, closing his eyes tightly. “I won’t… You’re okay. Just stay with me. Alright? Just stay here with me. I don’t want to lose you.”

Gerard cried. Frank held him. 

“Mikey and I did something for you today,” Frank said once Gerard had settled down a bit more. He still had the other man sitting in his lap, his arms wrapped tightly around Gerard’s torso so he couldn’t lay back down and disappear into the sheets. 

“What?” Gerard asked.

“Brought you some comic books from home. Some of your old music too. How does that sound?” Frank asked, rocking Gerard back and forth a little when Gerard said nothing. “Do you want to come see?”

Gerard hesitated a moment, then started nodding. Frank had to help keep him balanced as they walked into the living room where all the boxes were. He seemed dazed at first—neither excited nor disappointed—but began to come around more and more as Frank had him sit on the ground and go through each box. 

While sifting through the third box of comics, Gerard grabbed an issue and started reading—ignoring Frank whenever he spoke or tried to touch him. His eyes stayed dull as he stared at the pages, but he flipped through them until he’d finished the whole book. Then he dug through the first box again and came out with the next edition in the series he’d started reading. 

Frank watched him and smiled, then got up to fix something for them to eat. He made veggie burgers and set the plate and a napkin next to Gerard on the floor along with a glass of water. Absently, Gerard started to eat it, then finished the water twice. 

He seemed so content just reading issue after issue as Frank made a place for the comics on his tv stand—putting aside his own DVDs and games so more of Gerard’s things could be represented in the space. 

After a few more hours, Frank had put fresh batteries in the portable CD player he’d brought home and Gerard began listening to music on his headphones while reading. 

Frank slept on the couch that night while Gerard sat on the living room floor reading—all night, he read. 

When Frank woke up in the morning, Gerard was sleeping beside him—on the floor beneath the couch. Frank woke him up and had him eat some breakfast, then walked Sweet Pea on his own before coming back and getting ready for work.

“You know...this one is my favorite,” Gerard said, holding one of the comics Frank had put away on the shelf. “I’m missing volume seven.”

“Volume seven?”

“Yeah… But I like this one, too,” he said, holding up another copy. “Would you ever want to...read it with me?”

“Of course,” Frank said, unable to help the massive smile that spread across his face. 

He went to work with the high hopes that he’d get home and they would read comics together, but Gerard was in bed—hand over his eyes—asleep.


	25. Ruins

Gerard just didn’t feel like himself.

He tried to be more active, he really did, but it was too hard to stay motivated. He’d get up when Frank did and eat what he could before his stomach seized up and he’d start to feel sick. Frank seemed so supportive and understanding—more gentle than Gerard deserved—and never made him eat more than he could handle at a time.

They started a routine of reading comics together and listening to music before going to bed now. Gerard found that it kept his nightmares from becoming as bad when his last thoughts of the day were of aliens and superheros. 

Frank hadn’t tried to force him to do anything more physical than kissing when they were in bed together either, not like the night when he brought home the comics. Gerard never spoke of it again, but it had frightened him so much when Frank had grabbed his face like that and forced him to open his mouth for the kisses. He _loved_ Frank and he trusted him, but the gesture had seemed almost violent and it had scared Gerard to death. 

One moment he was sleeping, the next he was being grabbed and kissed and pulled into Frank’s lap. He kept expecting it to go further, panic settling into every part of his body, but as soon as he asked Frank to stop, he did. 

Thank God he did…

Gerard made sure to just give Frank his kisses whenever he wanted them after that, trying to avoid any more confrontation as he tried to figure out his place in this new world around him.

Things felt different now. Unsteady, in a strange way. 

Frank had moved in so many of Gerard’s comic books and most of his music collection, even some movies he used to like watching when he was younger. He was finding more and more of the old self he had lost, and he wasn’t sure which parts of him he wanted to keep and what was best left in the past.

For some reason, Frank had started wearing a hoodie around their apartment that looked like one he’d owned as a kid—and he had the sinking suspicion that it was, in fact, his old hoodie. But why would Frank want to wear that? Why did Frank bring out an article of Gerard’s old clothes? What was he up to?

Gerard found some solace in knowing that Frank was bringing his belongings into the apartment now instead of trying to push Gerard out and back in with his family. Gerard was starting to feel like he might actually have a life here—a good one—with Frank.

But he just couldn’t trust it. What if he got angry and hit Frank again? What if he really hurt him next time the monster in his soul took control of him? He didn’t want to build this life together and then have that monster ruin it…

So he found himself back in bed, blocking out the sunlight with his hands or his arms, crying a lot—wishing he could’ve died instead of his grandmother a lot. She was so good and kind and pure… 

He feared that telling her the truth was what killed her. Letting her be exposed to the demon in him caused her to give up the fight and succumb...all alone in that hospital room.

Gerard hated himself for it. He hated himself for it more than anything he’d ever done—more than going out that night to get high, more than smothering Nick with the pillow, more than refusing to get on his knees for the Bad Man. He _hated_ himself…

So why did Frank still love him? Why was Frank still trying to wake him up and kiss him and love him every day when he just wanted to give up?

“Sleeping in again?”

Gerard heard Frank’s voice like it came from a hundred miles away…

“Hey, Sweetheart. Wake up now, okay?” Frank started rubbing his shoulder, then kissed his temple and sat down beside him on the bed. “How was your day?”

“How was your day?” Gerard repeated.

“It was okay. Got yelled at by some old man because I wouldn’t give him free refills on coffee.”

“I don’t know how you handle those people. I hate people. I never want to deal with people...” Saying it just made him feel more pathetic. Because eventually they’d expect him to work and be a functioning person again—and working meant dealing with people, something he could barely handle. 

“I hate ‘em too,” Frank said, laying down beside Gerard and spooning him. Gerard tried to hold back the whimper that rose in his throat. He knew they hadn’t been intimate in weeks, but he couldn’t do it… He just couldn’t. He couldn’t even bring himself to try. “What’s wrong?”

“Tired,” Gerard whispered.

“Oh… Well, I brought home some dinner. Why don’t you come eat with me and we can watch _Poltergeist?”_

Gerard hummed and slowly sat up, letting Frank kiss him a few times before going into the living room and forcing himself to eat what food Frank had bought him. Tonight, Frank wanted Gerard to walk Sweet Pea with him, but Gerard refused. It was cold and rainy and he just wanted to stay inside. 

So he napped on the couch while Frank was gone and woke up to lips pressing against his. 

He never thought he’d grow tired of kissing, but he was… He wanted left alone. He wanted to curl up and disappear forever.

“Sweetheart, can we talk for a little bit?”

“Anything you want,” Gerard answered, his eyes still closed.

“I… I just wondered if you still wanted to be here with me. Your mom...she really wants you to come home and lately you haven’t seemed very happy here.”

Gerard felt tears well in his eyes and was determined to keep them back. He knew this would happen. He knew that one day Frank would kick him out.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with me...”

“I-I love it here. Please don’t make me go,” Gerard cried. His chest felt so unforgivably tight and he found it hard to breathe let alone speak.

“I don’t want you to go. I just wanted you to know it was an option—if you weren’t happy. I just want to help you. I hate seeing you like this. I’m running out of ideas to help.”

Frank grabbed one of Gerard’s hands and squeezed it tightly. Gerard tried to squeeze it back but just didn’t have the energy.

“You have to help me, here… If you don’t start feeling better soon, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. I love you, Gerard. I miss you.”

“Miss me?”

“Yeah. I miss having you here talking to me and drawing. I miss your smile. I miss everything, Sweetheart.”

All Gerard could do was reach out again and touch the scar where Frank’s lip had been split by his fist.

“I told you… I’m okay. I forgive you.”

“It’ll happen again, Frank. I can’t...I can’t stop it.”

“It won’t. It was my fault for crowding you. We had you backed into a corner. You were just protecting yourself. I’m not mad.”

“But I am… I shouldn’t have hit you. I should never have raised my hand to you—I don’t deserve you or to stay in your house. I don’t… I don’t belong here.”

“Yes you do. You made a mistake. We all do. I don’t want to lose you over it, though. I really love you, Gerard. Do you still love me?”

Gerard felt his heart break at the sound of Frank’s voice when he asked. It had never been his intention to make Frank feel unloved or unwanted. He felt so sick, so angry with himself when he realized what he’d done...

“Of course I do. How could I not? You’re good to me. You’re perfect...”

“I’m glad one of us thinks so,” Frank said, smiling faintly as he moved to start stroking Gerard’s hair. “I just wish I knew how to help you. I hate seeing you like this. I know you’re in pain… I feel so helpless right now. I’d do anything you asked...really, I would.”

Gerard watched as Frank’s face crumpled a little, feeling guilty that he had no advice to offer.

He didn’t know why he was so upset these days and didn’t know how to make it stop. The comic books and the music helped, but it was just surface level. He didn’t know what he needed to get better… He just hoped Frank wouldn’t give up on him in the time it took to figure it out.

“Do you think we should go somewhere? Maybe a change of scene will help. I could… I could take you to a park or something...”

“I don’t know,” Gerard whispered. The thought of going out just didn’t appeal to him. He wanted to stay inside...he wanted to sleep.

Frank sighed and looked away from him then, staring blankly at the wall. Gerard felt helpless watching him, knowing it was his fault and not knowing himself how to fix it. If he just had the energy...if he could just find the motivation.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said, grabbing Frank’s hand and pulling it to his lips to kiss his knuckles. 

Frank smiled at him, but it seemed forced. 

It seemed forced…

Frank wasn’t happy with him.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was trying, and Frank loved him for it, but it wasn’t working. 

He was getting out of bed more, but Frank tended to come home finding him asleep on the couch just as often as he found him in bed. He cleaned up the apartment, but he always left his cleaning supplies out or the dirty rags laying somewhere they didn’t belong. He’d tried fixing Frank breakfast a couple times but ended up burning it or stopping halfway through making a meal and...forgetting what he was doing, or just pausing and staring at the oven until Frank found him. 

His comic books were strewn all over every surface in literally every room in the small apartment, but Frank seldom saw him reading them. 

Some days he would really try, even going so far as to try playing with Sweet Pea once or twice—but he seemed to check Frank’s reaction every few minutes as if to make sure his partner was watching and taking note. 

He wasn’t getting better, but he was trying hard to make it look that way. 

Some days Frank convinced himself Gerard _was_ feeling better. Days when Gerard would actually be awake to greet him when he got home or days he’d excitedly tell Frank he walked Sweet Pea with Mikey or on his own while Frank was working…

Then there were night like tonight—where Frank thought he was better only to learn he was horribly, horribly wrong. 

He’d come home from work to Gerard busying himself with cleaning. Gerard smiled at him, showed him a sketch he’d done that afternoon. He hadn’t started dinner because he’d hoped Frank would bring something home, but offered to cook when he realized Frank hadn’t.

They walked Sweet Pea together, then ate dinner...then Gerard finally came on to him after almost two months of avoiding him.

Gerard had climbed into his lap on the couch and started kissing him, stroking his neck and pressing their hips together. He seemed so into it—so into _Frank._ They went back to the bedroom and Gerard made a show of taking off his clothes and undoing Frank’s work pants for him, giving Frank the most seductive bedroom eyes he’d ever seen in his life. He got on the bed on all fours, moaned the whole time Frank prepped him…

Then burst into tears as Frank pressed inside. Instantly.

Frank jerked away, thinking he’d hurt him—thinking something went wrong—but Gerard reached back and grabbed his hand and asked him to please keep going, told him he didn’t have to stop. 

“Gerard, you’re _crying!”_

“I know—I’m sorry. Please. Please, just keep going.” He looked so desperate—nearly crazed.

“Why are you crying?” Frank asked, grabbing the blanket and using it to cover himself.

“I-I don’t… I’m not. Not really. Please—Please, keep going. Let’s keep going. I’m alright.”

“No!” Frank said. He felt betrayed. He felt trapped. He didn’t want Gerard to get hurt… How dare he pretend he was that interested when the thought of Frank taking him just made him cry? How dare he?

“Frank, please! I’m sorry! I-I really want to. I just… I’m so sorry.” Gerard finally fell away from him and started crying, his face buried in his hands. “I didn’t mean to. I just want to show you I love you. I love you so much… I’m sorry. Please… Please—I’m so sorry.”

Frank couldn’t even begin to understand what Gerard was trying to say to him. He was sorry? He loved him? 

“Don’t be sorry, just… _don’t._ If you don’t want to fuck me, don’t.” Frank got out of the bed and fixed his clothes. He wanted to go sit in the living room—he wanted to be alone—but Gerard was still crying. He couldn’t leave him laying there crying…

So he sat on the bed and listened to his partner—if that was even what he was anymore—crying. He needed to get Gerard out of here… 

The thought struck him like a bullet through the chest. 

He wanted Gerard out of here—out of his apartment...out of his life. He couldn’t fix him. Ray was right—he couldn’t fix him. Nothing he could ever do would be enough for Gerard.

His whole body went rigid when he felt Gerard’s arms wrap around his shoulders, the other man’s face pressed into the back of his neck. He wanted to shrug him off. He wanted Gerard to just get away from him…

“I’m sorry,” he said for the thousandth time. “I-I just don’t know what else to do. I love you so much… I-I’m sorry I’m not…not coping. I...I’m trying so hard and it feels like nothing helps. I just want you to know I still love you. I wanted you to believe me...”

“You don’t have to fuck me if you’re not in the mood. I’m not like them. Stop treating me like I’m one of them,” Frank said, trying not to let the words get to him—and at the same time cursing himself. What was he saying? He asked for this behavior when he let Gerard into his life, when he agreed to court him like a boyfriend when he was clearly too messed up to make that distinction on his own.

“I just want you to be happy with me… I never want to let you down, Frank. I’m so sorry… You’ve done so much and I feel like I can’t repay you. I _can’t_ repay you.”

Frank didn’t know what to say, so he just stayed silent. Gerard was squeezing him tighter and Frank felt like he was the one about to have a panic attack for once. He just didn’t know what the hell to do…

“It would’ve been better if I’d just died… I was supposed to. I was supposed to die—he should’ve shot me! I should’ve died, not her! Not Nick—me! It should’ve been me!”

And he was in hysterics again, crying against Frank’s neck. 

For once, Frank said nothing to him and just let him cry it out. Gerard quit trying to apologize, quit trying to form words—just sobbed endlessly. He choked on his spit, choked on his breath, coughed until he couldn’t cry...then finally shut up. 

“If I talk, are you going to listen to me?” Frank said, finally turning around to look at Gerard who lay on the bed behind him whimpering and sniffling. 

Gerard gave a weak nod, his eyes looking pained and dismal. Frank felt the old spark of pity go through him again, but he pushed it down. Gerard was wallowing and he needed to stop it before he hurt himself or someone else. 

“First off, sleeping with me isn’t going to change anything. It doesn’t say you love me—it doesn’t mean anything. Especially not when you do this to yourself,” Frank said gesturing to Gerard’s tear-streaked face. “I know you love me. And I still love you, okay? Do you believe me?”

Gerard nodded again, swallowing hard as he did as if dreading what Frank would say next.

“I know you’re in pain. I know you’ve been through a lot—through hell. But you can’t...do this to me. Mikey’s worried...your parents are worried. I don’t… I really don’t think it’s best for you to stay here anymore.”

Gerard looked to horrified to speak, then started choking out little sounds.

“Just listen… You need _help._ I can’t fix you. I can’t be with you all day—I can’t _afford_ to give you what you need right now.”

“I-I don’t want to go. I love you—I’ll do whatever you want. Please!”

“Why do you want to stay here? What’s here that you want?”

“You!”

“Not me,” Frank said. “You don’t want that…”

“I don’t want to go with them! Why don’t you listen to me! They made my life hell! I can’t go back there!”

“It’s not going to be like when you were a kid.”

“They won’t let me see you!” Gerard cried. “I don’t want to lose you!”

“Gerard, you barely know me, alright?”

“That’s not true! I’m _sorry!_ Please don’t kick me out. I-I’ll do anything. Please!”

Frank didn’t know what to say to him to make him understand… How could he say Gerard was hurting him when all the other man was doing was trying to claw his way out of his own depression? How could he tell Gerard that his slow recovery was a pain?

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard started drinking. 

He visited his parents, got some cash, and found his way to the liquor store with the fake ID his Master had given Frank. Frank kept all of those auction documents in his kitchen junk drawer, and Gerard had found it looking for a new place to hide his black sketchbook. The papers made him want to gag—made him want to cry...but he wasn’t allowed to cry anymore. 

Frank was trying to throw him out—just like Master—and one more breakdown was all it was going to take. He couldn’t show Frank his emotions anymore. Couldn’t show him weakness… He was just like Master. 

Gerard had stuffed the grotesque paperwork back into the drawer and kept the ID, not sure why he wanted it but thinking of a use soon enough.

Frank left for work, Gerard went to the liquor store and blew close to sixty dollars on beer, wine, and liquor. He hid the beer in Frank’s unused produce drawer in the refrigerator, the wine in the cupboard above the fridge that Frank couldn’t reach without a chair, and kept his little bottles of whiskey under the couch. 

He started staying up nights drinking while Frank worked or after Frank went to sleep—and he’d just get wasted. Master seldom let him get this drunk and Gerard loved the feeling of it. The dizzy, woozy feeling blocked out how empty he felt. The anger that took the place of his sorrow made up for how heartbroken he was.

First Master, now Frank…

He wasn’t wanted by anybody—except his parents. And he didn’t want them…

But that was fine. He decided that was fine as he finished off one of his bottles of whiskey and topped it with a couple beers. 

No one loved him. That was fine. 

He didn’t love anyone either… Not anymore. 

Frank would rather live alone with the little rat than have Gerard with him. 

He cries _one time_ during sex and Frank is done with him. _One time!_

What a fucking waste, Gerard decided. Should never have told him his name, should never have let him in, should never have wasted his love on him…

With the liquor in his blood, hate came easy. Affection faded easy… It was simple to go from feeling butterflies in his stomach when Frank came home to feeling sick. 

He would clean up the mess of bottles and cans before Frank got home, rinse his mouth with some water, and sit on the couch with the TV blaring, his headphones on blasting, and a comic book in his hands that he was too fucked up to read. 

Just to prove a point. 

Frank would talk, Gerard would ignore—pretend for a few minutes that he didn’t notice him home then slip off his headphones and giggle.

“Welcome home,” he’d say and give a quick kiss on the cheek because the thought of kissing him on the mouth made him want to puke.

Then one day Frank came home with Mikey who started talking about how “they’d all decided” it was time for Gerard to move back in with their parents.

Gerard stood up, feigning hurt, then went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. Frank looked mortified, Mikey looked pissed at Frank, and Gerard watched them fight with each other while he drank his beer. Well who bought it for him if not you? They snapped. Who let him get it? Where did he get the money?

He just drank his beer and watched them fight. Mikey said he and their parents would be by in the morning to get him and his things, then left in a hurry. Frank tried to do “damage control,” though clearly struggling with how aloof Gerard was toward the whole thing.

It didn’t matter anymore, Gerard realized. He was mad at Frank, he was mad at Mikey—he didn’t want to be with either of them. His opinion didn’t matter to anyone, his feelings didn’t matter to anyone.

He went through the worst pain of his entire life and Frank quit loving him because of it. 

He was so bitter, so full of rage and hurt.

“I just want what’s best for you,” Frank said. 

“You just want me out of your life. You don’t have to lie to me,” Gerard said.

“Out my life? I’d still come visit you!”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s bullshit! You don’t care about me—you’re not going to come visit me! You’re just abandoning me—like everyone else! I hate that I ever trusted you with anything!”

“That’s not fair! I _tried_ to help you! I did everything I could! How long have you been drinking behind my back, huh? How long has _that_ been going on before you lecture me about trust!”

“It doesn’t matter! What do you care!?”

“I care because it’s not healthy! You’ve been getting out of bed more now...is it just to drink?”

“Mainly,” Gerard said, just to watch his face crumple. “I don’t bother to get up to see you anymore. No point in that. You won’t even touch me.”

“You won’t even kiss me anymore! Don’t blame me!”

“Don’t blame you? You started to fuck me then told me you wanted me gone! I begged you to listen to me—I told you I _loved you!_ I gave you my heart and you’re kicking me to the streets like trash! You’re Just. Like. Him!” Gerard screamed, his voice turning into a feral roar. Frank tried speaking, but the beast Gerard let claim him just roared even louder. “I hate you! I fucking hate you more than anyone I’ve ever met! You’re awful!—You’re so fucking selfish! All you care about is that little dog! You love her more than me! A fucking rat more than me!”

Frank came near him, ripped the beer out of his hand, and Gerard shoved him back. 

They screamed at each other—Frank getting loud, Gerard getting louder, Frank screaming louder still. Gerard wanted to punch him, but Frank had a hold of his wrists and wouldn’t let them go. It took a few minutes of struggling before Gerard was able to get one of his hands free, but before he could cock back is fist he realized Frank was crying. Not just a few tears running quietly down his cheeks crying, but sobbing and scowling with brightly flushed cheeks. 

“Look at you! Look what I did to you!” Frank cried. “I did this! That’s why you can’t stay here! You weren’t like this before. I hate it! I didn’t ever mean to hurt you like this! I loved you!”

Loved… 

He said _loved._

Gerard wanted to say something, but then Frank was gone. He closed himself up in the bedroom with Sweet Pea and Gerard was left in the living room at a loss for what to do. He finished another beer, unable to block out the words Frank had said and the sad look on his face. Gerard could hear him crying, just faintly, in the other room and it started to make him want to cry.

Why were they fighting? Why did Frank stop loving him? Was it the drinking or the depression or the fact that Gerard just wasn’t _good enough_ for him.

That thought drove a spike of pain through his chest so fiercely that Gerard found himself whimpering as he finished off his bottle of beer.

Hours passed and Frank came out of the bedroom to walk Sweet Pea, not bothering to speak to Gerard at all as he got his keys and left. Gerard wanted to apologize to him, but the words wouldn’t come.

He couldn’t do this anymore… He couldn’t do this to Frank anymore.

It wasn’t Frank’s fault he didn’t love him anymore. It wasn’t Frank’s fault he had no choice but to send Gerard home… 

But that didn’t mean Gerard had to go quietly. 

He wasn’t going back to his parents’. He wasn’t going back to being locked away in a basement and forgotten about until it came time to criticize him for something—for being too artistic and less sociable, for being to quiet and not friendly… No. He’d rather rot.

Maybe not fully understanding how much alcohol was in his veins, Gerard grabbed his coat and sketchbook along with the remaining bottle of whiskey hidden under the couch. He rummaged through Frank’s discarded work pants and found the other man’s wallet—and promptly took every bill and bit of change he could find tucked inside—then went over to the junk drawer where “Roger Casey” kept his personal documents. 

He took the social security card and put it with the fake ID in his pocket, then flipped through the papers to see if there was anything else of use. 

The documents turned his stomach. Lists and lists of things that were wrong with him—things his Master had broken, things his Master had used to punish him alongside things he would do to get him in the mood. Gerard wanted to cry as his eyes traced the list, memories of cruel beatings and the worst tortures in Master’s basement flooding his brain. Memories of how Marcus had kissed him and touched him, and how his Master stuck needles into his flesh to punish him for actually receiving a loving touch for once. 

Gerard began ripping the pages apart, tearing the envelope and folder the came in. He felt tears running down his face as he grunted—growled—shredding every word between his fingertips until that identity—that memory—was gone, gone, _gone._

He opened his sketchbook and ripped out page after page after page. Sketches of Master’s nice curtains, his vases and knickknacks. Pictures of Frank, of the comic he made with Frank and all the little dogs. He tore out the drawings of Sweet Pea he’d been working on in hopes of pleasing Frank and left them all on the counter in a heap with the shreds of his old records on the floor in the shape of a heart. 

There, he thought. Now he can have what he wants. 

He took a pen and a pencil from the junk drawer, put it in his pocket, and left with Frank’s money and the spare key. He had his sketchbook under his arm and pulled up the hood on his coat as he hurried down the steps and burst out onto the street. He didn’t look where he was going. He didn’t _care_ where he was going.

He might’ve walked past Frank but didn’t look down at the dog the person was walking to check. 

And, for the second time in his life, Gerard Way disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap for Part One! Stay tuned for more! 
> 
> Where did Gerard go? Who is he with? And what's Frank going to do when he comes home to nothing but shreds? 
> 
> All will be answered and more!


End file.
